


Palm Springs

by ElizaPembroke



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief Mickey Milkovich/OMC - Freeform, Canon-Typical Slurs and Namecalling, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Existentialism, First Meetings, M/M, Magical Realism, Mentioned Ian Gallagher/OMC, Nihilism, Palm Springs AU, Time Loop, Time Shenanigans, Weddings, repeated death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaPembroke/pseuds/ElizaPembroke
Summary: Ian and Mickey get stuck in one of those infinite time loop situations. At a wedding, of all places.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, mickey mi
Comments: 64
Kudos: 184





	1. It’s the day of the wedding!

It’s going to be a lovely fucking day.

Ian scrunches up his nose and groans. The sun is shining right into his face through a gap between the curtains. As irritating as it is, he has no intention of getting up just yet. His head is pounding lightly, and he has a severe case of cottonmouth. There is a whole list of things he is supposed to lend a hand to later that day but can wait as far as he’s concerned.

He’s considering turning on his other side when he finally registers the muffled sound of a shower coming from the en-suite bathroom. He sits up with another prolonged groan and runs a hand through his hair.

Guess he has no other choice but to face whatever the day has to give right then and there.

His boxers aren’t on the floor, where he expects them, but rather in a neat pile on a nearby chair, along with his shorts and shirt. What was surely thought of as a kind gesture, only makes the pain in his head more persistent.

Cursing under his breath, he gets dressed as quickly as his inebriated state allows. Then, he leaves the room, pointedly ignoring a voice that calls his name from the other side of the bathroom door.

Thankfully, the hallway is still empty, courtesy of last night’s heavy drinking. Ian has to hand it to Palm Springs – they certainly know how to party. It almost makes him forget how far from home he currently is.

He makes a beeline to his room, where he promptly tugs the curtains closed, leaving the still perfectly made double bed in comfortable darkness. He doesn’t switch the lights on in the bathroom either, just blindly reaches for the case where he keeps his meds and vitamins, fills a hotel-issued plastic cup with water, and swallows his regular handful.

There is still time, he thinks, falling head-first onto the bed. He can sleep for a few more hours before he lets his head overanalyze what happened last night.

\---

When he wakes up again, the sun is even more insistent. There is also a commotion of voices traveling from down the hall, where he remembers the kitchen is.

He groggily backs off the bed and, without really thinking about his rumpled clothes, wild hair, and dried drool that is most certainly on his right cheek, makes his way out.

“Look who finally decided to join us from the dead!” Mandy calls out when she sees him carefully making his way to their little group around the large kitchen island. There is a knowing smirk on her face, and she’s screaming, even though there is now only a couple of paces separating them.

She’s lucky they are best friends. And okay, maybe also because – for some bizarre reason Ian is still coming to terms with – it is her wedding day.

“Was startin’ to worry about you, shithead,” she adds quietly, with a slight frown. She already has her blonde hair in an intricate updo and is wearing what Ian assumes will be her bridal make-up, but is still otherwise dressed down.

Even like that, she looks beautiful. Content. Ian doesn’t remember her looking like that much from their days in Chicago. Sure, she was beautiful back then, too. But never this happy.

There used to be a time when they would spend every free minute in each other’s company. Even went as far as pretending to date to keep the homophobes off Ian’s ass – and basically the same sort of men off Mandy’s ass. And they would laugh and play video games and get high. That was definitely one of the best times in both of their lives.

But there was always an undercurrent of sadness to Mandy that Ian could easily empathize with. He, too, was well aware that his joy was short-lived. He learned that from his parents and the way that happy endings simply didn’t seem to agree with South Side’s stale air.

As is it turned out, Mandy realized that sooner than he did. That’s why, come her 18th birthday, she packed her bag and left for California, because… Well, Ian is fuzzy on the details. Something about the weather and putting her past behind on the other side of the country.

Ian isn’t sure Palm Springs is the best place for either. From what he could tell so far from his short stay there, the place is mostly desert, and the sun is constantly on full blast, even now in November. Perhaps, the stark contrast makes the hard-earned moving on part easier.

After all, it’s where she met Branden, the nice junior manager who has strong opinions on conservative media but is otherwise a bit of a pushover, which seems to suit Mandy just alright. Ian’s heard his fair share about their spiritual and sexual compatibility during his and Mandy’s weekly Facetime sessions, which they have kept up in the years since she left Chicago.

“I’m fine,” Ian replies, stopping next to Mandy to smack a kiss on her cheek.

She’s sitting next to Branden and his younger sister Arica, who are busy dividing their efforts on sorting name tags for dinner later, while the bride-to-be folds napkins. Branden’s parents are in the kitchen, too, but each unsurprisingly sticking to their own corners. Everyone at the wedding party knows about their nasty divorce from a couple months ago.

Ian makes his way to the sink, which stands right under the window to the enclosed grassy patch of land behind the hotel. Through it, he sees the wooden wedding arch with long white drapes and flower decorations, in front of which they are now setting up chairs. Ian thinks he recognizes Mandy’s older brother Iggy as one of the people there. He was around the Milkovich house quite often back when Ian would spend his free afternoons with her.

There are two other guys in the garden – Branden’s cousins, Ian remembers from the rehearsal dinner last night – and then another dark-haired guy he finds vaguely familiar.

He’s enjoying the maximum of what looks like a helluva uncomfortable position, lying on two of the folding chairs, soaking up the sun in his shades, and idly taking puffs from his cigarette. There’s also an opened can of beer balancing on his belly, which keeps moving up and down with his every breath.

Ian seriously envies that guy’s carefreeness.

Only shortly taking his eyes off that strange beacon of calm outside, he runs the tap to fill an empty glass with water.

He’s just taking a massive gulp of it when Mandy speaks again: “Think you could join the unpaid staff now? We could really use some help since _Mickey_ fucked up the only thing he was supposed to and decided he was done for the day.”

There’s a barely audible _tut-tut_ coming from Branden’s mom’s corner, but Ian doesn’t pay her much attention because Mandy’s words finally make him realize one thing: the person he keeps staring at is her other older brother.

He doesn’t actually know much about Mickey. He used to see him around the Milkovich house just like Iggy, but even less often. Back then, he spent a lot of time in juvie. Ian heard he liked to start fights and bully kids at school for all sorts of things, so it was kind of a relief that they managed to stay away from each other every time he was back home.

Last time he heard, Mickey was moving up to big-boy prison. Now, it seems like he’s taking a sabbatical from his incarceration, as dear old dad Frank Gallagher would say.

Good for him.

“Sure thing,” Ian exhales and spins to flash Mandy a smile.

As he’s gurgling water to get rid of the dry feeling inside his mouth, he feels a hand brush his ass. He spits and just about catches the grin of Branden’s father, who is passing him on his way from the kitchen.

Ian makes sure to rinse his throat one more time.

\---

The ceremony is over fairly quickly and – despite South Side tradition – passes without life-altering incidents. Sure, Ian sweats through his suit and is positive his face is sunburnt from standing in the sun for longer than five minutes. The whole time he also has to ignore a pair of grey eyebrows, which are trying to flirt with him from the groom’s front row.

But standing right by Mandy as her best man has its perks. Up close, he can watch the nerves slowly leave her body and notice the honest emotion in Branden’s eyes as he recites his vows.

He can also scan the slim crowd of attendees for reactions.

Iggy is openly sobbing, and several of Mandy’s friends from work keep beaming, which sort of makes Ian worry about them. People from Branden’s larger side of the crowd mostly wear poker faces, the uptight bastards.

The place that is so inexplicably set up for the Milkovich patriarch remains empty.

And of course, Ian has the perfect view of Mickey, the ever so unbothered creature of nonchalance that does not stop fascinating him. For one, he still wears the fucking Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks he was sporting around noon. For two, he emphatically cheers both times the _I do_ is said and seems totally unfazed by the glares he gets back.

Maybe Ian is just imagining things, but he has a feeling Mickey’s eyes keep coming back to stare at him, just as intensely as his own are.

He feels naked under it. Vulnerable.

It makes his skin tingle and his dick harden just enough for it to still be socially acceptable.

The ground starts shaking right after the bride and groom’s first kiss. There’s a bit of a panic among everyone, and one of the flower pots tips over, but otherwise, it’s all fine. Just something that happens around here sometimes, Ian is certain of it.

\---

Now that it gets dark and everyone finally sits down for dinner, Ian can start drinking again. He knows he shouldn’t on his meds, but that doesn’t make the thirst any more quenched at the moment.

He shoots a glance at Mandy, who is now chatting animatedly with her new husband at their table. There is so much she doesn’t know about Ian. So much he doesn’t tell her. So much he doesn’t tell anyone.

“The biggest bottle of your cheapest vodka,” Ian tells the handsome bartender and notes his badge. “I would love you forever, Leo,” he adds in his best seductive voice.

Leo only sighs and murmurs something about it being an open bar.

Unfortunate, but it was a longshot.

The bottle he takes from one of his cabinets could well have been of antifreeze if it wasn’t for the minimalist label that said vodka, and not much else. In Ian’s eyes, it’s perfect.

Leo offers him a choice between a red plastic cup and a straw.

“Oh, you’ve got jokes, Leo! I like that in a bartender,” Ian tries again, but without luck. Leo is already serving someone else. “Thank you, Leo!” he still coos after him.

\---

Ian is on his second refill, and his body is pleasantly buzzing. Some time ago, Arica’s got hold of the microphone and is now in the middle of her fourth embarrassing story about Branden and Mandy. Ian can’t really feign interest in _another_ joke about how the married couple comes from entirely different worlds, so he decides to rely solely on reactions from the crowd.

He’s ready to kick the party up a notch by taking a swig of another shot of vodka when he realizes he’s being called to the microphone.

“Earth to Ian!” Mandy’s voice pierces the uncomfortable silence. “We wanna hear that speech of yours!”

A cold shock passes through his body. _Oh, shitting fuck._ He absolutely forgot about his speech.

There is no coming through this with his dignity intact. Mandy is literally going to tear him a new one in front of all the guests.

As he repeatedly opens and closes his mouth, struggling to come up with an excuse that will get him the least killed, someone else takes the microphone. With his F-U-C-K tattooed fingers closed around the device, and a newly lit cigarette dangling from his lips, it is truly a marvelous sight.

“If I could take this opportunity,” Mickey starts, taking the cigarette in his free hand in the process. There is a wide grin on his face, but Ian can tell there’s something weird about it. Not fake or anything like that. He genuinely looks pleased for his baby sister.

People probably don’t expect someone like Mickey Milkovich to be a big smiler. But he almost looks like he’s tired of smiling again.

“When my sister Mandy told me she was marrying Branden, it was over a text message. And I had to ask if she really wanted to marry into a family that couldn’t fucking spell their first names properly.”

That gains some chuckles from the crowd.

“I’ve always wanted what’s best for her. But I gotta be honest with you, I wasn’t sure marriage was it. No, to be totally honest, I was fucking sure it wasn’t marriage,” he goes on, his left hand drawing circles in the air.

The oddest thing is, instead of looking at the happy couple, Mickey seems to be directing his words at Ian.

“Life is fucking hard as it is. Why would you want to add a ball and chain into the mix? Like you wouldn’t be better off keeping your lack of ambition and a crippling sense of self-worth to yourself. But, uhm,” – A scratch across his eyebrows, which may have been a nervous tick before, but now looks nothing short of a well-practiced act. – “if there’s one thing I realized, it’s that life actually gets easier when you have someone to share it with. Someone who gets you for you. Not just with the good bits, but also with the ugly bits, and all the bits in between.”

There’s no mistaking it now. Mickey is looking straight into Ian’s eyes as he recites his speech. And Ian can’t for the life of him stop looking right back.

“If marriage means that you’ve found that person, then, _fuck_ , congrats!” Mickey turns to Mandy and Branden, at last.

As his own way of raising a glass, he finishes the speech by stomping out the cigarette that has slowly burned out in his hand.

\---

He takes Ian’s side at the bar not much longer after that.

“A straight vodka sipped through a straw from a plastic cup? You look like my kinda guy,” Mickey laughs, sidling onto the free stool next to Ian. Their knees nudge together lightly when the ginger faces him.

“Oh. Yeah,” he admits dumbly, his cheeks burning.

Mickey makes no sign he’s going to speak as if still waiting for his cue.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you. For earlier,” Ian decides to add then, which seems to do the trick.

“No worries, man. Woulda been a shame to pass on a chance to share my thoughts on love. I had some shit to make up for.”

“I bet.”

Ian is suddenly hyperaware of the fact that their knees keep touching. It seems as if all the warmth he feels from the alcohol is now concentrating to those two spots of his body.

“So, what are you drinking?” he tries as a way of keeping his mind from inappropriate thoughts.

“Not much anymore,” Mickey shrugs. “And you shouldn’t either.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Might wanna keep your head clear for later.”

And _that_ is definitely a proposition if he ever heard one.

Is he really suggesting what Ian thinks he’s suggesting? Is it possible that Mickey Milkovich is –

“Quite a speech you made there, asshole!” Mandy chooses that exact moment to interrupt Ian’s racing thoughts. “Almost sounded like you had a heart in that dead cold body of yours.”

“Glad it was only a close call,” Mickey remarks.

“You remember my shithead of a brother?” She’s talking to Ian now. “He wasn’t at the rehearsal dinner last night because he went to pick up our dad – and then somehow _lost him_ on his way here.”

Ian only quirks up his eyebrows at that.

“Mickey, right?” he asks instead, trying to sound as casual as he can about finally meeting the person who’s been on his mind since earlier that day.

He isn’t sure if Mandy’s knuckle-tattooed brother is the type of person who shakes hands, so he opts for a vague hand wave instead. It’s the right choice, it seems.

“Nice to see you, again, Ian Gallagher,” Mickey smiles.

Ian can’t help but wonder why his name sounds like something Mickey’s lips have already pronounced more than a thousand times.

“You remember me?”

“Gangly gingers are hard to forget.”

They go silent for a bit, just share a look. It’s nearly enough to forget that Mandy’s still standing between them.

“I appreciated you coming to Ian’s rescue like that. And don’t think I’m forgetting that you didn’t prepare a speech for my fucking wedding!” She keeps turning back and forth from Mickey to Ian. “Be nice to him. Ian’s had a rough morning. And by morning, I mean a rough couple of years. And you have a tendency to piss off everyone who comes near you.”

“Eat me,” Mickey says without real heat.

“Speaking of which, I’m gonna go stuff my face,” Mandy announces cheerily, pounding them both on their shoulders.

“Yea, go have that husband of yours stuff your face right!” Mickey shouts after her and chuckles as she lifts her middle finger over her shoulder. His whole body then concentrates back on Ian. “Hey, you wanna get out of here?”

It takes Ian all his willpower not to jump right off his seat.

“Wouldn’t they miss you here?” he tries for a reply.

“I’ve done my part already.”

Ian just nods.

“Where would we go?”

“I know a place.”

\---

The place, as it turns out, is a never-ending stretch of desert filled with cacti, some small bushes, occasional stony hills, and other piles of dust.

Ian really isn’t sure what this is supposed to be. A hook-up? A violent assault in the middle of nowhere that compensates for all the fagbashing Mickey didn’t give him in high school?

He decides to push his good luck. When they pass another slope, he tugs on Mickey’s hand and crowds his shorter body onto the rocky surface. Mickey’s eyes immediately go to Ian’s lips.

“Are we gonna spread out a blanket and look for shooting stars, or what’s the plan here?” Ian teases.

“It’s just a little further,” Mickey says but doesn't push against the hand on his chest.

Ian takes that as encouragement.

His hand slowly makes his way down Mickey’s belly, unhooking the buttons of his colorful shirt in the process. He hears Mickey’s breath hitch and has to keep himself from rutting his already semi-hard erection on his thigh.

And _fuck_ , if it isn’t already a much better ending to this day than he ever expected.

Two shots cut the air then, and Ian can swear the bullets pass them only by a foot or so.

“Oh, shit! Shit!”

“Knew you’d be here!” a stranger calls out from the darkness. “You always come here in the end, you faggot!”

“Run, fucking run, Ian!”

Mickey’s leading him over a steep rocky range, behind which – Ian hopes – they can hide from the gunman.

“Who the fuck even is that?” he asks out loud.

Mickey doesn’t have a chance to reply because the next shot goes right through his leg. He curses, stumbling a little, but determinedly keeps limping on.

“Mickey! You’ve been shot!”

“Yea, I know I’ve been fucking shot!” Mickey replies angrily. He jumps a little on his healthy leg, swerving Ian behind a curvy slope. “Look, if you follow this track here, it will lead you back to the hotel.”

Ian follows his hand as he gestures. “What? You’re not coming with me?”

Mickey groans from the pain. Then, he risks a glance from the side of their hiding. “This has nothing to do with you. He’s coming after me. _Go_.”

“I can’t leave you like this!”

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” he assures Ian, as if that sentence is supposed to make any sense. “Fucking go! And don’t follow me.”

Ian watches him tentatively make his way toward what looks like two massive stony spires pointing at the night sky.

He seriously debates going back alone, but in the end, decides against it. It may be the remaining alcohol in his system talking or his fucking hero complex, but he really can’t leave Mickey in whatever the hell is going on here.

So, he follows him.

\---

As he finds out, the spires hide an entrance to a cave. He continues down its darkened tunnel when his eyes are unexpectedly overwhelmed by a reddish glow, which seems to fill the entirety of the space.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out, shielding his face.

Mickey is only a few steps ahead of him when some of the small rocks under Ian’s feet decide to fly off into the distance. The loud echo finally makes Mickey turn around.

“Jesus Christ, Ian! I said, don’t follow me!” he protests but doesn’t stop moving further into the cave. “Fuck! Don't come in here!”

And with that, the bright light envelopes him, and he is gone.

Ian can’t believe it. His mania has made him see a lot of crazy shit in the past, but _this_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It makes no sense. Like, zero.

But against what Mandy and everyone in his family thinks, he is doing well. He’s actually stable. Well, as stable as you can be with regular intake of drugs and alcohol.

Fuck it, he thinks. If this is a hallucination, he is going to ride the wave until the very end.

\---

Ian scrunches up his nose and groans. The sun is shining right into his face through a gap between the curtains. As irritating as it is, he has no intention of getting up just yet.

 _Wait_.

His eyes shoot open. He can hear the water running in the en-suite bathroom. Quickly sitting up, he finds a neat pile of his yesterday’s clothes sitting on a chair next to the bathroom door.

This is all wrong. He is fairly confident he wore those clothes two days ago.

He throws on his shirt and boxers, not really bothering with the shorts for now, and sneaks out of the room.

Switching on the lights in his bathroom, he counts the pills in his medicine box. It looks like he forgot to take one yesterday. Or today, he isn’t sure.

Shit. Did he seriously forget to take his meds for one day – and this happened? Did he actually hallucinate a whole damn wedding? He checks the phone he keeps in the back pocket of his shorts.

The date is still the same: November 9, the day of Mandy’s wedding.

Maybe he should up his dosage for the day. Or try and sleep it off. Yeah. He’s just going to lie down for a few hours.

He’s sure he’s going to feel better after that.

\---

He doesn’t.

“Look who finally decided to join us from the dead!” Mandy calls out when she sees him making his way to the kitchen. “Was startin’ to worry about you, shithead.”

“No.”

They all look up at that. Ian stands in front of the kitchen island, his eyes searching the whole room, fingers pushed into his tousled hair.

“Ian? You okay?”

“No. This already happened. This day’s already happened.”

The dread in his voice leaves everyone shocked. After a beat, Mandy moves closer to Ian and gently takes his hands.

“Hey, Ian, are you–” She’s trying to find the right way to ask the question. It comes out as a whisper. “Are you taking your meds?”

“Yes, I’m fucking taking my meds!” He shakes off her hands and goes to the window above the sink. “I’m not crazy. I’m not manic. This day’s already happened. I’m not making this up. This day’s already –”

He is scanning the garden, not really sure what he’s even looking for. But then he notices him, the male figure lying on two of the folding chairs, lazily taking drags from his cigarette, not caring one bit about the world around him.

All of a sudden, his fear is replaced by rage.

Because against all logic, it really seems like it is going to be that lovely fucking day all over again. And it is all Mickey Milkovich’s fault.

_What the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first go at a longer fanfic and I’m not feeling super confident in my (American) English, so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> Some other things:  
> \- This fic came into life from my love for the film Palm Springs (2020). I just couldn’t stop picturing Ian and Mickey in this crazy time loop scenario, so I started writing it.  
> \- I realize some of the things here feel a little OOC (like inviting Terry to the wedding, or Ian forgetting his best man’s speech), but I had to include those things for the scenario to work. I promise all will be explained in later chapters. There’ll be five of them, I think.
> 
> Also, please go watch Palm Springs! It’s a really funny and surprisingly thoughtful movie about love and life that hits especially hard during this weird period of time.
> 
> You can come talk to me on my tumblr @abundanceofnots.


	2. It’s another day of the wedding!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gets to grips with his newfound situation. Mickey has answers.

“What the fuck, Mickey?”

Before Mickey can fully register what’s happening, a pair of freckled arms pull him into a standing position. The beer can, which up until then stood on his belly, rattles to the ground, where it is now spilling all over his shoes.

“What the fuck did you do to me? Did you drug me?” Ian is hurtling at him, hands tightly grasping at his Hawaiian shirt.

“Fuck you!” Mickey spits back at him. “You know I would never –”

He gulps down the rest.

Ian wants to shout some more, maybe even pound at Mickey’s chest, but his face is already full of regret and hurt. Like he’s ahead of this whole conversation and knows full well what he caused.

But there is something more to his expression. Something Ian can’t read.

“Everything alright, Mick?” Iggy comes to his brother’s aid.

“Yea.” Mickey keeps monitoring Ian’s reaction. “We’re cool.”

The fire in Ian’s body is slowly burning out. He wants to ask so many questions but, even in his head, they make absolutely no sense.

He follows Mickey’s eyes and notices that Mandy, Branden, and his family are all staring at them through the kitchen window. Ian finally lets go of Mickey’s shirt.

“Not here.” Mickey lightly touches Ian’s arm. “Come with me.”

\---

“So, I guess you followed me.”

They are sitting in a car that’s parked in the driveway in front of the hotel. Ian figures it has to be Mickey’s car, based on the whole vibe of the rickety thing.

“Like I was just going to leave you with a hole in your leg.”

More than anything, Ian is offended now.

“I told you, I was gonna be okay.”

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to stop shouting.

“Yeah, like I could’ve known that you were just gonna step into a portal and _fucking_ regenerate overnight, or whatever! Sorry for giving a shit!”

Mickey shakes his head, hiding a smile. “Fuckin’ Gallagher.”

He reaches for a pack of cigarettes in the glove compartment. He lights one, offering the pack to Ian, who shakes his head.

“So, what is this? When is this?”

“About that.” Mickey takes a drag, measuring his words. “This is today. Yesterday is today. And tomorrow is also today. It’s one of those infinite time loop situations you might’ve heard about.”

“That I might’ve heard of?”

“Yea, _Groundhog Day_ , _Edge of Tomorrow_ , _Happy Death Day_. That sorta thing.”

Ian grins in spite of himself. “Are those the sort of movies you normally watch?”

“I had some free time lately.”

“Okay. So, what if I wanted for tomorrow to be tomorrow?”

“Yea, that’s natural.” Mickey blows out smoke. His face shows no emotion, but Ian can tell he’s making fun of him a little. “Unfortunately, that’s never gonna happen. Tomorrow will always and forever now be today.”

“What about the cave?”

“What about it?”

“What if I go there now and walk through the light again?”

“It’s not there yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“ _I_ _mean_ , the cave’s not there yet.”

Their conversation is making less and less sense by the minute.

Ian can’t decide what it is. His bipolar acting up? An elaborate prank on Mickey’s part? Both, somehow? But in a way, he already knows that it is all real. It feels too _solid_.

“Wouldn’t do you any good, anyway,” Mickey continues, flicking ash off his cigarette from the rolled-down window. “The moment you go through there, the day just resets. Same thing if you stick around. The second you fall asleep, the day just goes back to the start.”

Ian’s head is in his hands. He realizes he’s laughing. “This is a set-up, right? Mandy put you up to this?”

“Look, I dunno what it is. Could be life, could be death. I could be imagining you, you could be imagining me. We could both be in a coma. Could be purgatory, or a glitch in the simulation that we’re in.” Mickey makes a gesture like he could go on.

Ian doesn’t have time for this. He has to get out. Now.

“Dunno. A while ago, I decided to give up and stop trying to make sense of things altogether. Because the only way to really live in this is by –”

“Switch places with me.”

Mickey wants to protest, but Ian is already out of the car, walking around its front to sit in the driver’s seat.

“A’ight.”

As soon as Mickey sits down in the passenger seat and closes the door, Ian turns on the ignition and drives off.

\---

“Okay, whatcha doin’, Ian?”

The car is speeding down a highway, Palm Springs and its houses long gone. Now, it’s just dust and rocks becoming a blur in Ian’s periphery vision.

“Trying out a theory.” He’s still accelerating, his eyes watching the empty road ahead with a purpose. “And waiting for you to tell me to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to crash this car.”

Mickey chuckles. “Suit yourself.”

“What? You’re really not gonna stop me?” Ian questions him, making the car swerve with the turn of his attention. “I’m going to kill us both.”

“I told you. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now,” Mickey says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Although I have to tell you, there are better ways.”

Ian gives him a look again.

“Tried most of them,” Mickey admits with a shrug.

A truck comes up on the horizon, slowly making its way toward them. This is their chance.

Mickey takes off his seatbelt.

“What are you doing?” Ian asks.

“Bracing for a quick death,” Mickey replies, his voice muffled by the dashboard he’s leaning his head on. “You see, we can’t die, but the pain is very real. And there’s nothing worse than slowly dying in the ICU. Trust me.”

Ian takes off his own seatbelt, nodding. He’s _actually_ going through with this, _actually_ believing it.

“We could just skip this whole phase, you know? Get high, or something,” Mickey suggests. When Ian doesn’t reply, he sighs. “Okay. Meet me around ten at the blue house that’s six blocks north from the wedding venue. It will make things a lot easier.”

Ian turns his head just in time to see his cheeky wink.

“See you tomorrow!” Mickey quips.

Ian faces the road again. The truck is only about two hundred yards from them. Any second now.

He steers the wheel, leans forward, and squeezes his eyes shut before the impending impact.

\---

It’s quarter past ten when Mickey finally arrives in the car in front of the blue house. Ian’s been sitting on its doormat for about forty minutes at that point.

It was fairly easy to spot the house, even when he tried to look it up on Google Satellite View. It’s the only one with paint that bright around. Ian knew it wasn’t far to get there, but he couldn’t stay in the hotel any longer.

His heart hasn’t stopped hammering in his chest since he woke again in… not his room. He keeps reliving the screeching sounds and flashes of colors that followed the crash. Instinctively, he scratches the side of his head.

“Glad to see your face is still round and pretty.” Mickey cackles nastily as he shuts the car door. Ian stands up and dusts off his ass and thighs.

“I really don’t know how you can joke about this.”

“You learn with time.”

Mickey bends down, reaches under the doormat, and holds up a key.

“You serious?”

Mickey gives his regular shrug. “Safe neighborhood.”

He unlocks the front door and leads Ian into the house. It’s even smaller than what it looked like from the outside. The walls are mostly bare, and there are boxes pilling the floors everywhere. Ian glances around what seems like the living room, kitchen, and dining room all crammed into one space.

“So, where are we?”

“This is kind of a safehouse for me. I’m here on most mornings,” Mickey replies offhandedly.

Ian wants to push, to ask him where he wakes up every day. He knows Mickey isn’t sleeping at the hotel. Well, at least he guesses he isn’t. But he’s afraid to ask. This _thing_ between them still feels too fragile for that.

“And the owners?” he asks instead.

“Not coming back. At least not on November 9.” Mickey’s tongue finds its way into his cheek as he snickers at his own words.

In the back of the room, he slides a glass door open.

“Here we are,” he announces then, motioning to the tiny pool that stands in the middle of the backyard.

\---

They are lounging on two inflatable pizza slices that barely fit inside the pool. Mickey is still in his usual clothes, the shirt now casually unbuttoned to reveal his slightly hairy chest. Ian is topless but still wearing his jean shorts, and there are distinct lines of sunscreen on his nose, forehead, cheeks, chest, and shoulders. They are both finishing their beers – Ian his first, Mickey his second.

“So, we can’t die,” Ian breaks the comfortable silence.

“Yea,” Mickey starts, scratching at his belly. “We kinda have no choice but to live, so I think your best bet is to just learn to suffer existence. To be frank, I can’t say the concept was totally foreign to me.”

Because of the shades, Ian can’t fully read his expression. But he can tell the smile on his lips isn’t genuine.

“You just have to find peace,” Mickey goes on.

“This the peace you found?” Ian nods in the general direction of the pool.

“Shut up.” He’s actually laughing now. “I swear it was bigger before I had to share it with your tall ass.”

“Oh, you _had_ to! Gee, Mickey, I’m sorry I’m not your ideal person to share a never-ending day with,” Ian replies, playing at offended.

“Whatever, man.” Mickey is biting his bottom lip. Suddenly, the conversation gets tense.

“Nah, I can’t stay here for too long anyway,” Ian says, trying to ease the atmosphere. “I can already feel turning four shades redder.”

Mickey snorts. “Yea, I had a feeling you’d burn like a motherfucker, Firecrotch.”

With that, he flicks water at Ian, who chuckles, and returns the favor. Several drops land on Mickey’s sunglasses, and he takes them off to wipe them dry with his shirt.

“We could go back to the wedding,” Mickey offers.

“Fuck no. Why would we do that?”

“To eat. Drink. Bask in love.”

They both crack at that.

Then, after a beat, Ian gets serious again. “I don’t know. I kinda feel like it’s better that I’m not there,” he says.

“Why? You and Mandy seem practically joined at the hip, even after all these years. Dunno how come Branden hasn’t complained yet.”

“Yeah.” Ian sighs. “But I think it’s a lot less trouble for her this way, you know? Less to worry about. I’m probably not making any sense.”

“No. I know what you mean.”

Ian looks at Mickey, who is studying his hands, which are absent-mindedly rubbing at the legs of his shades.

“So, why do you go back there?” Ian asks.

Mickey clears his throat and puts the sunglasses back on.

Finally, after a while, he says: “Free booze.”

\---

Later, Mickey takes Ian to a bar. It’s your regular ramshackle pitstop in the middle of the dried-up plain for people who want to get drunk fast, hard, and for cheap. It’s exactly what Ian and Mickey plan to do.

As they park the car, Ian notices a goat tied by the bar’s entrance, lazily gnawing at a small patch of grass growing there.

“That’s Flo,” Mickey mentions offhand, exiting the car.

“That’s what now?”

“Flo.”

Mickey points at the goat, as if Ian’s the one acting out of order, and heads inside.

“Hey, fellas! Good day so far?” an older guy greets them from behind the bar.

Mickey replies with what feels like a too-often repeated phrase: “Today, tomorrow, yesterday. It’s all the same.”

They order two beers and go to sit down at a booth at the furthest corner of the bar. While Mickey scans the faces of everyone there, Ian takes the seat with his back to the wall. When Mickey sees that, he huffs but says nothing. With resignation, he shuffles to the middle seat, his legs nudging Ian’s.

“Do you really know that goat’s name?” Ian asks.

Mickey shoots him a _why are you still on ‘bout that_ look.

“’Course I don’t,” he admits. “But I come here all the time, and that’s the name I gave her in my head.”

“Wow, Mickey.” Ian really likes saying his name. “You’re so lucky you have me here, now,” he laughs.

If Mickey reacts in any way to that, Ian misses it.

“Fuck.” Ian is patting his pockets. “I think I lost my wallet. Like three days ago, come to think of it.”

Mickey chuckles. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Brenda’s gonna foot our bill.”

“Who’s Brenda?”

“Hey, Brenda!” Mickey calls out. An older trucker lady who’s playing pool with another older guy turns with an annoyed grimace. “You and me, a hundred bucks!”

And off he goes.

Ian sits there, mesmerized, as he watches Mickey shoot his balls down the pockets. He moves with such assurance and ease that Ian thinks he looks like he’s trained for this for months. Which he actually probably has.

\---

With their food and drinks paid for, Ian and Mickey dig into their burgers and fries – and also their second and third rounds of shots. Ian is already positively tipsy.

“Okay.” He dips two of his fries in ketchup. “I already know that you drink, make sappy wedding speeches, lounge in what you insist on calling a pool, –” A fry hits his nose. With a chuckle, Ian shakes it off his thigh, where it landed. “– don’t necessarily avoid death, and scam people of their money by playing eight-ball.”

“Fuck off, I won that money fair and square.”

They share a look and laugh.

“So, what else do you usually do around here?” Ian continues.

“Try to have fun. I get high. I do some things, which would _otherwise_ be considered illegal.” Mickey is paying too much attention to his burger. “I fuck.”

 _Okay_.

“Who did you fuck around here?” Ian risks asking, trying to sound casual about it.

“Some of Mandy’s awfully cheery girlfriends. Brenda, once or twice.” He finds himself nodding slightly at Mickey’s words. “And Leo the bartender.”

For some reason, that hurts Ian. And it isn’t because Leo declined his advances just two days ago.

“But I don’t do that much, lately,” Mickey adds quickly. “Takes too much work. And at this point, I try to live my life with as little effort as possible.”

“Except for last night. Wait. No, the night before.” Ian already struggles to make sense of their timeline. “You know what I mean.”

The slip-up only makes things worse. Because Mickey doesn’t say anything, which Ian hates. He really needs to ask, really needs to know.

“Did we hook up before that?”

“No,” Mickey shakes his head resolutely. “At least I don’t think so.”

Ian is seriously baffled by his own emotional response to that. Because, in a way, he feels _disappointed_. Not that he necessarily wants to hear about the sexual escapades that Mickey and he – the other Ian, or rather all those other Ians that he isn’t, those that never existed in the first place, or those that somehow keep going on with their lives somewhere in the multiverse ( _complicated!_ ) – got up to.

But he still wants to be included in that group of people. Because… Well. The simple truth is, that way Ian would know for certain that Mickey would have sex with him. Which he still isn’t so sure was going to happen before that guy started shooting at them.

“ _Oh, shit_!” Ian exclaims. “Who was that guy that was shooting at us?”

Mickey can’t stop his eyes from flicking to the entrance. He puts his burger down.

“A – He was shooting at me. B – Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

“It’s Terry. My dad.”

Ian figured a guy like Mickey must have enemies, but he wasn’t expecting _that_.

Maybe he should’ve. He heard some stories from Mandy, after all. And there was that whole thing with Terry Milkovich trying to beat the shit out of sixteen-year-old Ian for allegedly impregnating Mandy, which turned out as it turned out.

“I thought you lost him,” Ian says.

“Yea, sorta.”

Mickey’s rubbing at his eyebrows again. Ian noticed he does that every time he isn’t particularly keen on talking about something.

“He’s a massive pain in the ass. I’m surprised we actually made it all the way to California. The fact that he was plastered when I picked him up in Chicago helped, I guess.” He lets out a groan. “But then he sobered up, said some bullshit, and I kicked him out of the car a few miles outside Indio.”

Ian smirks. “Good job.”

“Well, that’s only the beginning.” Mickey sighs. “He still made it to the wedding. I dunno how. Pro’bly stole a car or walked. Some stuff happened there, we got into another fight. Ended up in the cave together. And now, we’re stuck here. He blames me, obviously, so he’s still coming after me. Only some days, now, anyway. I guess even he gets tired of trying to kill me.”

Ian doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he just asks, stupidly: “What stuff happened?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Ian thinks that’s the end of that, but Mickey still goes on, only softer than before. “He’s kinda right, though. It is my fault. I’m a piece of shit that makes stupid mistakes. And my most recurring one is that I keep trying to be best pals with my dad.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes after that.

Ian is aware that Mickey probably doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, but he can’t stop himself. Not now, when he knows how much they have in common.

“You can’t blame yourself for something that’s completely normal,” he offers.

“Don’t.”

“It can’t go on like this. You can’t just keep running away from him.”

“Why not? Been doing that my whole life,” Mickey admits and takes a swig of his beer.

Ian feels an urge to reach out and touch Mickey’s hand. But even with meds speeding his way to intoxication, he isn’t drunk enough to do that.

“What if it’s a karma thing?” He surprises them both with the sudden change of topic. “What if you, like, had to be selfless, and then you’re free. What if we somehow had to earn our way out of the time loop?”

“Tried that already.” Mickey’s eyes are burning into Ian’s. “Did the most selfless thing I could think of. But I’m still here. Fuck being selfless, right?”

\---

For the rest of the afternoon, which too soon pours over to night, they stray from the topic of family trauma. They talk more about things that don’t matter, drink, smoke together, and laugh.

And afterward, when they are too tired and drunk to drive, they decide to call it a day right then and there, in the bar. Lying down on the seats, their heads meet in one of the elbows of the booth.

“Today wasn’t so bad, actually.”

A snort from Mickey’s side. “You say that now. Wait until it’s today number 254.”

“That’s very specific,” Ian chuckles, drunkenly. “What today is it for you?”

“Fuck if I know. Stopped countin’ a while ago.”

Ian studies what he can see of Mickey’s profile from his position.

It occurs to him that perhaps Mickey knows exactly how long it’s been for him but doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe he likes to make himself seem tougher than he truly is. His meticulously forged armor is so tightly strapped to his body, he forgets he can take it off, now that nothing matters. Probably doesn’t even feel its weight anymore.

With a sigh, Ian closes his eyes.

He’s already almost out when he hears Mickey rustle around. Soft fingers make their way across his forehead, into the roots of his hair, and down his temple. As suddenly as they appear, they are gone.

That day, Ian falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming back, and reading all the way here! I'm really enjoying writing dialogue between these two.
> 
> Some thoughts on Chapter 2:  
> \- Writing this chapter was way easier (and more fun) then writing the first one. Hopefully, it will read as such, too.  
> \- Some dialogue was taken directly from the movie Palm Springs. Mostly when I found it actually fit the character pretty well, and maybe helped with exposition.  
> \- When I talk about Mickey in a Hawaiian shirt, you can imagine the greenish beige one he wears in season 5. I know I do.


	3. It’s another day of the wedding, again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey carpe that fucking diem.

Mickey is right about one thing. The days in Palm Springs really do start to blend into each other fairly quickly.

Ian’s not even sure how many of Mandy’s wedding days he’s lived through already. He may have passed the 254th-day mark, the patented transition day in Mickey’s eyes. But it’s equally possible he’s not even halfway there yet.

He fully expected to be sick of the place already. Sick of the desert, sick of the never-ending sun, sick of Mickey and the situation that forced them to be each other’s only real company. Because Mandy’s still there, and so is the rest of the world. Ian can still call his siblings in Chicago – or even Fiona, wherever she is right now.

But he doesn’t, not anymore. It’s not the same. Because even though he’s the one stuck in a time loop, it’s the others who, to him, seem to be trapped in time.

They always ask about the wedding and Ian’s bus ride there and his mood and his meds. And he gets it, he really does.

He gave them quite a fright several months ago, when he stopped taking his meds, single-handedly established a cult, and nearly blew up a van. It cost him the job he so dearly loved – the job that finally let him feel like he had a purpose in life again. It also cost him the remnants of his siblings’ belief that he was able to handle it on his own.

He lost everything that mattered. And the worst part was, he couldn’t really say he lost himself in the process, too. Because at that point, he couldn’t even remember who he used to be in the first place.

So, in a way, Mandy’s wedding was a welcoming escape from the very beginning. It allowed him to get away from the studying looks, the hushed conversations, and the carefully weighted words.

And then the time loop happened, and it got _so much_ better.

If Ian’s completely honest, he doesn’t think he felt this _good_ in a really long time. It’s like he’s fifteen again. Yeah, the situation is fucked, but he’s still somehow totally calm. He knows what he wants to do and has a goddamn drive to do it.

Most days, that just means sharing a blunt with Mickey, lounging together in the tiny pool in the safe house, or getting drunk at the bar. But to Ian, it’s major. It means he’s – in the most nonsensical meaning of the word – free.

He doesn’t have to think about his bipolar. He doesn’t have to think about his past in South Side. He doesn’t have to think about what it means to wake up in the room that he does.

He’s getting better at it every day.

With Mickey, it’s easier in some way because he doesn’t want to know anything about _before_. At least he says he doesn’t. He even once submitted Ian to a whole spiel about how life was the sweetest at the moment, which he demonstrated by eating an entire Snickers bar in three bites.

Mickey never asks about his moods or his meds. Even though Ian came clean about his disease after Mickey made fun of him for being a lightweight drinker.

He suspects Mickey googled the symptoms when he was alone because he now gets this worried look every time Ian drinks too much or gets hyper. He never says anything out loud, though, seemingly reminding himself of his own motto: that nothing matters anymore.

He likes that Mickey doesn’t ask questions and just takes Ian for who he is now.

He tries to do the same for Mickey, which isn’t too difficult, considering that he’s a genuinely charming, funny, and fucking _caring_ guy under all the hardened exterior. The tough part is not asking the questions that always find their way onto Ian’s tongue. The questions about prison, about Mickey’s dad – and the how comes.

How come it took them a whole-ass time loop to find this? How come they didn’t have this back in South Side? How come they weren’t allowed to have this?

Ian never asks. In the end, he doesn’t see a point. They’re good together. They’re good together, _now_. There’s really no reason to ruin the sweetness of the moment by bringing up the past. That’s another thing Mickey is right about.

He doesn’t really have a say in this, but if he did, Ian would choose the now – whatever the hell it means – over the past, like in no time.

Good thing there’s none.

And it’s the most bizarre thing in the world, but he doesn’t want the time loop to end.

It’s also the truest thing he feels. And there’s – incredibly, amazingly, _finally_ – a lot he feels these days.

\---

What they do all these days consists of a whole lot of everything and a whole lot of nothing. Sometimes they go out of their ways to make the most of the time that doesn’t matter. Other times they are fine doing nothing in particular.

One day, for instance, they borrow – because in the time loop, nothing is _technically_ stealing – a helicopter and try flying it over Palm Springs. When Ian gets a panic attack, for reasons which frankly should’ve been clear to him from the get-go, they crash and get killed on the spot.

Mickey never asks what that was about, which Ian appreciates.

-

On another day, they borrow – again, _not steal_ – a tent, a pair of mats and sleeping bags, and succeed in making a campfire in the desert.

They’re already pretty stoned, empty cans of beer lying scattered around them, when a procession of dinosaurs crosses the horizon. They both confirm what they see with a variation of expletives and _whoas_. As they dopily watch the massive figures, they agree to smoke some more of the good shit.

They giggle like teenagers for hours after that.

-

On a different day, they have a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie marathon. Mickey remarks on how Van Damme can’t compare to Steven Seagal’s powerful ponytail, and Ian makes a horrible pun on _Double Impact_.

They order pizza to the blue house, drink beer, and pass a joint on the small couch that makes them sit too close to each other. Ian tells more stupid jokes and Mickey, inexplicably, laughs at all of them.

It lights up his whole face when he does, Ian notices. Brings youthfulness and gentleness into his usually schooled features.

Ian wants to prolong those moments as much as possible and savor the funny sensation they create in his belly. And each time, it takes all of his restraint not to lean forward and lick Mickey’s lips.

He bets they taste like bliss, like a straightforward continuation of what just looking at Mickey feels like.

Thirty minutes into _Universal Soldier_ , Mickey falls asleep. As he falls deeper, his head sways onto Ian’s shoulder.

Ian teases him about it the next day but doesn’t say what he did for the rest of the day. Even if the truth is as simple and innocent as turning off the TV, laying his head on Mickey’s, and following him into sleep.

-

On another different day, they get the most absurd idea to give each other stick and poke tattoos. Ian wants a picture of a big leaking cock on his back, and Mickey cackles the whole time he finesses a massive pair of tits on there instead.

Ian insists that as a punishment, he will do Mickey’s tattoo on his chest.

He tells Mickey not to look as he writes his own name above Mickey’s heart. He leaves out one of the l’s and an h from Gallagher because his last name is too fucking long, and his hand is cramping.

“The fuck, Gallagher?” Mickey yelps when he checks the tattoo in the dark reflection of the TV.

Ian flashes him his most satisfied grin.

“A tit for tat. Or rather, a ‘Galager’ for a tit, I should say.” 

Mickey looks positively scandalized, but Ian can see the blush that creeps to his cheeks.

“Suits ya,” Ian adds and lightly slaps the other side of Mickey’s chest. Mickey socks him back on his shoulder.

“Could you be more of a homo?” Mickey asks, but there’s no edge to it.

Ian pouts and fakes thinking hard about it. “Uh, no,” he replies, with that wide grin again.

\---

Throughout all that, they mostly manage to steer clear of Terry. They run into him only once in the roadside bar where he and Mickey go for lunch on their way to the beach.

Ian senses Mickey freezing where he stands beside him and has to practically manhandle him back to the car. Terry doesn’t follow them, but the short look he shares with Ian says enough about his internal conviction to hurt his own son.

“Maybe he won’t go after you, now that he knows there’re two of us,” Ian tries to clear the air once they’re back on the highway. Mickey’s the one driving, so he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

“Nah, fucker’s not that easily deterred,” Mickey says, his eyes coming back to the rear-view mirror. “He must be planning something big.”

“Okay. Then we’ll be ready, too.”

Mickey shoots him a look that says he’s not so sure of that.

\---

The strangest part is, they don’t have sex. Don’t even come close to it.

Sure, there are the occasional small touches. A brush of knuckles as Mickey passes him a cigarette. A lingering press of hand on his shoulder as Mickey tells his drunken story. A poke in the ribs as Mickey retaliates one of Ian’s quips. But they never go further than that.

It’s refreshing, in a way. So many of Ian’s former relationships were based solely on the fact that he was hot and people wanted to fuck him that he sometimes gets nervous about the situations he finds himself in with Mickey, as comfortable as they may be.

When it happens, he reminds himself that it’s still Mickey, the man who not so long ago challenged him to a burping duel. Who let him win a game of eight-ball, even though he’d probably never admit to it. Who once let him tattoo his name over his heart.

The right words and reactions come to him as second nature. Because that’s how it is with Mickey. The teasing and the fun and their own special way of offering each other comfort feel like the most instinctive things in the world.

The inclination to shut down and lose himself in sex is still there. And so is the hurt that Mickey doesn’t just tear off his clothes and fucks him.

But Ian has to admit that it also feels kind of nice to be with someone who’s not just after his body. Someone who willingly spends time with him without demanding sexual favors in return. Someone he has fun with.

Someone his own age.

And yes, there are times when it’s frankly infuriating that this is the way that things are between them. Ian can’t even count the times he had to excuse himself to go jerk off in the bathroom lately. All it takes now is Mickey’s tongue poking out of his mouth, or being slowly dragged along the bottom lip, to start the stirrings in Ian’s groin.

One time, he made the mistake of pushing Mickey off his inflatable pizza slice into the pool. When he got out of the water, the swim trunks left little to no imagination of what his dick looked like underneath. Not to mention that it stuck to his plump ass in a way that made Ian think some very dirty thoughts.

Is this what taking things slow means? Ian really has no way of knowing. He sees the looks, and he thinks he understands them. But there’s a small part of him that’s terrified that this is all Mickey wants, this _dudes being bros_ thing. Ian can’t relate.

Not that he wouldn’t gladly commit himself to an eternal continuation of a single day with Mickey only as a friend. But he knows it wouldn’t take long before he did something stupid. Pushed too hard. Scared him away.

He knows he’s got to try first. For his own sanity’s sake.

\---

“Hey, so what’s the deal with Mickey?” he asks as he barges into Mandy’s room one day.

“And good morning to you, too,” she replies, not pausing the movements of the small brush she’s using to apply eyeshadow. “Thought you’d be out until afternoon at least.”

“Yeah.” He moves to stand behind her. “A lot on my mind.”

She stops to look at his reflection in the mirror. “Mickey on your mind? Don’t tell me you’re tryna fuck my brother.”

“Pfft, no,” he scoffs, then reconsiders. “But if I was, would he, you know. Be up for it?”

“Jesus.” Mandy rolls her eyes. “This your way of asking if Mickey’s gay?”

Ian hopes his friend gets his silence. Mandy sighs to indicate that she indeed does.

“Who the hell even knows,” she continues, moving to her other eye with the brush and eyeshadow. “It’s not like he tells me these things.”

Ian purses his lips, nods his head slightly as if to say he gets it.

He makes a move to leave.

“Look, I would never tell him this, but I always thought he was the intelligent one in our family. Someone who could do something with his life, you know? I was, of course, always proven wrong when he got himself locked up. And it’s the sloppiness of the crime that always infuriated me. Like, assaulting an officer? Who in their right mind does that? Not someone who doesn’t want to get caught, if you ask me.”

She’s watching him in the reflection again, and Ian feels like she’s answering questions he hasn’t asked yet.

Mandy’s lips part as she starts to apply eyeliner.

“If you asked me back in Chicago, I’d laugh in your face,” she says. “But it’s different now, something changed. And I have eyes, you know. I see the way he looks at guys. And just between us, he usually checks out the same ones as I do.”

She considers it, then chuckles. Ian arches a brow at her, confused.

Finally, she turns to look him in the eyes. “I just realized you might be exactly his type.”

\---

Mickey’s not lying on the air lounger when Ian gets to the safe house. Instead, he’s sitting on the pool’s edge, lazily kicking his legs in the water. He flinches when Ian pushes the glass door open.

“Hey.” Mickey’s voice is timid. “Started to think you bailed on me.”

Ian laughs, leaning on the doorframe. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Milkovich.”

Mickey bites his lip, nods. He watches Ian for a beat. “You’re not coming out here?”

“Nah,” Ian says. “Still got some things I need to take care of.”

Mickey looks perplexed, waits for Ian to explain himself more.

“Got some plans,” Ian answers with a shrug.

Mickey makes a gesture to say that explained fuck-all.

“Okay, whatever, weirdo. Have fun.”

“They involve you,” Ian adds, pulling a face that means _of course, they do_. “But you need to look your sharpest.”

He snaps his fingers and makes finger guns at Mickey.

“So, go get your suit and meet me in two hours at the bar. Okay?”

Mickey narrows his eyes.

“Okay, I guess? But only if your plan doesn’t involve chopping off my limbs somewhere in the desert.”

“Ah, don’t spoil the fun,” Ian says, mock-seriously. “And anyway, it would be a waste. I’m saving that for when we get out of the time loop.”

He wiggles his fingers at Mickey, excited. Then, he’s out of the door again in a flash of movements, completely missing the way Mickey’s face falls slightly after his parting words.

\---

“No peeking!” he shouts in Mickey’s ear for like the third time, as he leads him over the threshold into the bar.

“Like I could see a damn thing with your massive fucking paws covering my whole face,” Mickey protests, his breath tickling Ian’s fingers.

“You’re gonna regret that grumpy attitude in a second.”

Ian tells him to mind his right, where the bar and most of its patrons are, then leads Mickey several more steps forward.

“Okay, keep ‘em closed,” he instructs and takes his hands off.

He moves in front of a glittery banner that says _happy millionth birthday assface_. A table with Mandy’s wedding cake stands right next to it.

“Just one more second. Almost. Almost. Tada!” Ian strikes a pose, suddenly remembering to knock down the bride and groom figurines from the top of the cake.

Mickey blinks and takes it all in.

He’s actually put on a suit, a pretty decent one at that, and Ian realizes it’s probably the one he originally wore to Mandy’s wedding, the one he never got to see. With Ian wearing his black suit, too, they must make for a spectacular eyesore in a place like this.

“Fuck,” Mickey huffs. “I’m not that old, am I?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Ian replies with a smirk.

Out of his pocket, he produces a single thin candle, which he sticks right into the messy center of the cake. He lights it, gesturing for Mickey to come and blow it out.

Mickey grins as he steps closer. Ian starts clapping when he blows out the candle, encouraging the rest of the people in the bar to join in. No one seems too cheerful to be part of what’s happening, but there are some odd claps.

“Happy birthday, whenever it may be!” Ian exclaims, patting Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey thanks him.

“Where’s my present, bitch?”

“Coming right up.”

Ian hands him a shot of vodka and takes one himself. “To you!”

They link their arms and drink up.

“Now, we dance,” Ian announces happily.

Mickey points to his empty glass. “Then I’m definitely gonna need more of these.”

\---

Ian’s tapping at the jukebox to a nonexistent rhythm. He feels Mickey’s eyes on his back, and he doesn’t mind giving him a bit of a show.

He finally finds a song he likes. With an eager _woo_ , he spins toward Mickey. The CD clicks to its place behind him, and [a disco bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l3ZKbVVWeU) starts playing.

Ian closes his eyes, immediately getting lost in the music. He shimmies a little, pulls a concentrating face. He adds his hips and shoulders to his improvized movements. As the song comes to its chorus, Ian lifts his arms above his head, slowly releasing them forward. He stops them there and points at Mickey.

Ian chances a look at him. He’s sitting at the edge of their booth, trying not to laugh too hard. Ian motions for him to come and dance.

“No, no fucking way!” Mickey tries objecting over the loud music, chuckling.

Ian makes a gesture to say he understands. He turns back to the jukebox, grinding his hips to the lively beat. Half a minute passes before the song changes. [This one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3vCB3YBMUo)’s even older – and _definitely_ slower.

“Come on,” he tells Mickey, offering his right hand as he comes to the booth.

Mickey glances around the bar. Then, he takes another shot, stands up, and grasps at Ian’s hand.

Ian knows the song’s romantic bullshit. The guy sings about _forever and ever_ and _the one_ and _dreams coming true_. He can hear his brother’s voice calling him a soft motherfucker for choosing it.

He doesn’t care one bit.

As he leads Mickey further from the booth, Ian suddenly spins him under his arm, making him laugh from the surprise of it. They end up face to face, with Mickey looking up at Ian. Their bodies automatically start swaying to the music. Just a small step to the side and back, nothing more.

Ian places Mickey’s hands onto his chest, holding them there for a second, while he gazes into Mickey’s eyes. He’s feeling lightheaded, but not the bad mix of meds and alcohol kind. More like the _insanely fucking happy_ kind.

He reaches out to cup Mickey’s face, gently stroking his cheeks and the lines in the corner of his eyes. Then, his fingers slide down, finding his lips. As they do, Mickey’s eyes shift to Ian’s mouth in return.

With the pad of his thumb, Ian lightly brushes over Mickey’s bottom lip. His tongue darts out, seemingly following Ian, encouraging.

At last, when Ian leans in and their lips meet, it’s in a delicate peck – a tender press of wet lips that ends entirely too soon. Ian withdraws to look at Mickey’s reaction. His breath hitches a little when he sees that Mickey is beaming back at him.

This time, they both lean forward at the same time.

The kiss quickly becomes passionate, a direct translation of the hunger that Ian’s felt in the pit of his stomach for longer than he can count. He alternates between light nibbles and sucks at Mickey’s lips. And even through the music, he clearly recognizes Mickey’s moans that accompany his own.

When he realizes that Mickey’s cradling his head, pushing their faces closer together, fingers tangled in his hair, he finally dares to lick into his mouth.

They kiss and kiss, not thinking about the world around them until they’re both out of breath.

“This another birthday present for me?” Mickey smirks, his eyes still closed.

Ian smushes their noses together.

“I was hoping it would be,” he admits. “Wasn’t sure. Could’ve ended either way.”

Mickey shuts him up with another kiss.

“There’s more,” Ian says when they come apart again.

Mickey sighs, content. “Do tell.”

\---

And, well, there’s really no other way of calling the little set-up that Ian prepared for them in their favorite spot in the desert.

It’s a sex tent.

A big enough tent that’s going to accompany them both with reasonable comfort as they finally – holy shit, _finally_ – have sex.

Ian tries to act all coy about it as he scratches his neck and vaguely gestures to the tent, but there’s no denying it. They both know it. They both know what’s about to happen between them.

“Shit, I should’ve mentioned,” Mickey says, scratching at his brow. “I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Fuck off.”

Ian gives him a shove and reaches out to pull him closer again, muffling Mickey’s laugh in another kiss.

They should’ve done this on the first night, the night that Mickey got shot and Ian followed him into the cave. And they should’ve been doing this ever since. In fact, they should’ve been doing this since the very beginning. Since Chicago, since Ian was a freckled kid with bangs and Mickey was the pointy-haired delinquent who sometimes robbed the place Ian worked at. All that time seems like a waste now.

Ian pulls away and clears his throat. “I’ve brought some food. We can eat first,” he suggests. “Or we can just sit by the fire for a bit.”

“Fuck the foreplay,” Mickey replies, and it’s the most romantic thing Ian’s ever heard.

His _oh thank god_ gets lost somewhere in between the loud noises their lips make as they suck at each other’s faces.

Their move to the tent is far from sexy. They stumble a lot, both being too stubborn to pause the kissing and focus more on the legwork or the unzipping of the tent door. They let go of each other for a while just to get the giggles out of their systems. Then, it’s back to kissing.

When they’re finally inside, the tent closed behind them, all gentleness is forgotten. They hastily get out of their clothes, which results in some accidental punches and kicks as they try to help each other out. When they’re both down to their boxers, Mickey bites at Ian’s chin, making him groan and shove Mickey on his back.

He’s leaving a wet trail as he licks at Mickey’s neck. It goes all the way down to his nipples, which Ian circles with his tongue, lightly suckling at them. He moves up to kiss Mickey again, working on tugging off both of their underwear with one hand.

An important question pops into his head as he covers Mickey’s naked body with his own. He manages a weak _hey_ as he combs his fingers through dark hair before Mickey interrupts him.

“Just get in me, man.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you considerate asshole.” Mickey grins, his hands intertwining in the back of Ian’s head. “Get to it.”

Ian reaches for the lube and one of the condoms he stashed earlier in the tent’s inner pocket. They kiss as he prepares Mickey, which doesn’t take nearly as long as it should. They’re both too riled up for that.

The sensation of being inside Mickey at last, having Mickey’s legs hooked around his hips and feeling Mickey’s hands in his hair, is overwhelming, to say the least. Ian has to stop as he enters Mickey, whining loudly into the crook of his neck.

Ian levels their faces. Right then, he wants to bare it all to Mickey. Tell him about the how comes and the should-have-beens and the dirty thoughts and the crazy notion that he would gladly be with him in the time loop until the universe exploded. He’s aware that it’s the hormones clouding his mind, but it’s also so clearly not. Because he’s been waking up in that godawful hotel room actually looking forward to the days ahead of him, and there’s only one reason for it.

He tries to say it all with the one whispered word:

“ _Mickey_.”

At first, he isn’t sure if Mickey understands or if he even hears. But then he brings Ian closer to him, touching their foreheads.

As Ian starts thrusting into Mickey, he hears a similarly soft sound that nearly gets lost among the moans.

“ _Ian_.”

\---

They fuck one more time after that and then take a small break to eat a piece of the cake that Ian packed for them. They’re both naked and sticky, and Ian’s never felt better.

As they lie on their sides, their feet resting beside the other one’s head, they talk about nothing of importance. They mostly make each other laugh by making shit up about people from the wedding while taking sneaky caresses of each other’s bodies.

When they’re finished, Mickey blows him. And the frankly _ridiculous_ thing is, he seems to know exactly what Ian likes – just how much tongue to use to lick around the head of his dick to bring him closer to orgasm, or just how quickly to pump his hand to make him squirm.

After that, Ian offers to do the same for Mickey. They’re kissing when he does, a dirty slide of tongues that carries just the slightest hint of Ian’s cum. He yawns into Mickey’s mouth for the second time when Mickey pulls his face away.

“Hey, idiot, if you fall asleep while you’re sucking me, I’m never letting you fuck me again,” he jokes, stroking Ian’s hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Ian rolls down from Mickey onto his side. He groans as he swipes a hand over his face. “I don’t think I can stay awake for much longer. But I don’t want to stop yet. I haven’t nearly done everything I wanted to do to you.”

Mickey snorts, turning to face Ian. “Why hurry? The day’s not going anywhere. We can continue this in the morning.”

Ian yawns again and smiles. He mutters a silent _okay_ as he closes his eyes.

Before he falls asleep, he feels Mickey lift his arm as he scoots over to let Ian spoon him.

\---

Ian wakes up to the sun shining right at him through the curtains with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Nothing can ruin this. Nothing can stop the pleasant shivers that run through his muscles, nor the vibrations of his skin when he remembers Mickey touching him as he fell asleep.

He rolls over on the bed, closing his eyes again to relive some of the moments from last night. _Holy shit_ , he kissed Mickey. And not only that, because they also fucked. Twice. And they’re gonna fuck today, again, and the today after that, probably, too. 

It’s not like they defined what this thing between them is, or what it became last night. And Ian’s totally cool with pretending that it’s just a thing they do now. You know, _casually_. _Nothing matters in the time loop stylez_.

Ian’s still not one hundred percent convinced Mickey would want to do this in the real world.

He has a painful realization at that. Because he really fucking wishes it was all real. That what they did mattered. And not only to them but to other people, too. He wishes that when he kissed Mickey in front of everyone in that bar, it meant things.

Ian really misses the consequences.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize the shower in the en-suite bathroom stopped running. It startles him, then, when a man’s voice calls out to him.

“Hey, kiddo,” the groom’s father – Edgar, Ian’s brain supplies – says, one hand firmly holding a towel around his hips. “Last night was fun, but you should probably get out of here before someone comes looking for you.”

Ian stares back at him in horror.

And it’s not like he forgot. How could he ever forget a thing like that? But he consciously kept it out of his mind on most days. As a coping mechanism, to actually get through the day.

At that moment, everything comes crashing down on him. The painstakingly buried shame, the guilt, the sheer scope of madness, of thinking he could ever just leave the past behind like it never happened in the first place. He was so fucking foolish to ever think he deserved better.

Now, he’s only entirely sure of one thing. He really needs to get out of the time loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me about those two idiots on tumblr: [abundanceofnots](https://abundanceofnots.tumblr.com/)


	4. It’s… whatever!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, or the morning before. It doesn’t matter anymore. Or maybe it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what do you say? It’s a POV change!

It’s not a complete lie when Mickey says he doesn’t remember exactly how many times he’s woken up in his car on the side of a road in the middle of a fucking desert. But he knows for certain that this is the first time he doesn’t wake up with a start.

His neck and back ache from sleeping in the reclined driver’s seat, just like they always do, but there’s one thing that’s brand new. He works his mouth around it, pouts, bares his teeth. It’s undoubtedly a smile. One that must have formed on his face while he was waking up.

And okay, this shit’s kind of embarrassing, he knows that. But as he repositions his seat, he notices the wild motions of butterfly wings inside his belly that must come as a package deal with the smile. It’s simultaneously the most glorious and daunting thing he’s ever felt.

He grabs a pack of cigarettes from the headboard and walks out of the car to have a smoke.

Sure, he and Ian fucked last night, and they’re probably going to spend the rest of the day fucking. And that makes Mickey nervous because it’s not like _before_.

Still, it makes no goddamn sense. Why is he only now getting the first-date jitters? And what for? He already saw the guy naked, even had his dick in his mouth. They’ve done the getting to know each other part.

This is the guy he saw puke his guts out once after an exceptional night of heavy drinking at the bar, after which Mickey decided it was probably better if he secretly ordered nonalcoholic beer for him from then on. Sure, it always earned him some looks. But fuck it, he wasn’t a pussy for caring if someone was making themselves unnecessarily sick.

He still doesn’t know that much about Ian’s bipolar. _Shit_ , he really wished he could bookmark the page in the online medical journal on his phone, and it would stay there every day, so he wouldn’t have to search for it over and over again every time.

So yeah, being anxious after all of that makes no fucking sense. But reason doesn’t really seem to cut it with Mickey’s nerves right now.

He’s still at least an hour’s drive away from Palm Springs. That’s enough time to get a better grip on himself before he gets there.

\---

Ian’s late.

And it’s not like they ever set up an official meeting time or whatever, but he’s usually at the house before Mickey gets there. Today, just like yesterday, seems to be an exception to the rule.

As he waits, Mickey finds himself thinking over the best way to greet Ian. Is it going to be awkward if he ends up just standing there? Should he go for a hug? Are they already at that part of a relationship when they would kiss hello? Are they in a relationship? They definitely kissed like they were _something_.

Maybe he should’ve taken the extra time to take an actual shower for once.

It’s nearing eleven and Mickey’s on his fifth cigarette when Ian finally rounds the corner of the street. His hands are in his short’s pockets, and he’s walking sluggishly, like he doesn’t really want to move, but there’s an invisible power willing him to come to Mickey.

They’re face to face now, neither saying anything, and Mickey can see that Ian, despite standing just few paces from him, is miles away. The smile that’s been a constant company to him throughout the morning falls from Mickey’s face.

“Hey,” he cuts the silence, throwing away his cigarette.

Ian barely looks at him at that, and Mickey immediately regrets his previous worries.

“Fuck’s up with you?” he adds in a rougher tone.

How could everything get so fucked in such a short amount of time? When did bubbly, shamelessly flirty Ian turn into the zombie that was side-stepping in front of him on the street?

The questions run through Mickey’s head. And he would never admit to it, but there are tears welling up in his eyes.

Ian speaks then.

“Can I drive?” he simply asks, the blank expression still intact.

Mickey wants to demand answers, scream that they’re not going anywhere until Ian tells him what the fuck’s going on. All he says is:

“Sure, yea.”

And throws him the car keys.

\---

“You sure you’re okay?” Mickey asks again in the car.

Ian’s eyes haven’t left the road since they drove out of Palm Springs. With fingers strumming over the back of Ian’s seat, Mickey tries to keep himself from touching his neck.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ian replies tersely.

“Dunno. You’re just… I thought we’d be…” Mickey huffs out a laugh. “Nevermind. I dunno what I was expecting.”

“Well, you shouldn’t really be expecting anything when you’re dealing with a crazy person like me.”

Mickey’s eyes go wide. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Shit, sorry. I just…” Ian wipes at his eyes. “I really hate waking up in here.”

Mickey hums in agreement. “The waking up’s always fucking weird. But going to bed just became kinda fun, right?” he tries, hopeful again.

But Ian doesn’t reply, just studies the rear-view mirror.

“This cop’s been following us for miles,” he says with suspicion.

Mickey wants to mentally slap himself. Did he really let his guard down so much that he stopped noticing his surroundings? He turns in his seat to get a better look. Squinting, he recognizes a male officer driving the car. But that’s all it is. A police car, driving behind them. Nothing weird about it. He’s got more urgent things to deal with.

He turns back, scratching at his eyebrows.

“D’you maybe wanna talk about it?” he offers, all careful, which makes Ian face him, if only for a few seconds.

“Why? It’s all meaningless, right?”

The smile Ian flashes him is the fakest one he’s given him yet. He doesn’t get too much time to think about it, though, because Ian then steps on the gas so hard that Mickey bounces back from his seat.

“The fuck are you doing?” he yelps.

“Seeing what they want.”

The police car instantly speeds up, too, its horn blaring and lights glowing. Ian drives a little further, then stops as suddenly as he started accelerating.

A man’s voice comes through the speakers from the police car that stopped some distance behind them. It urges them both to exit the car.

It’s weird and muffled, but the voice makes Mickey’s skin crawl.

“Oh shit,” he finally realizes, “it’s Terry. It’s definitely Terry.”

Ian just shrugs. “Okay. Let’s handle him, then.”

“What are you talking about? Ian!”

But he’s already taken his seatbelt off and got out of the car, putting his hands up.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” Mickey hears him shout, cheerfully. He watches what happens next in the rear-view mirror.

The policeman is opening his door, too, and he sees that he’s pointing something at Ian’s chest. Mickey curses as he struggles to get out of the car as quickly as possible.

“Leave him out of this!” he cries after he runs out.

Before he can do anything else, the taser gun strikes him in the chest, and he falls down on the dusty road, his body heaving in forceful shakes.

“You must really love cock,” Terry proclaims, coming to stand over Mickey. “Must be why you can’t keep yourself from jumping on it all the time. Maybe we should do something about it.”

“Leave. Him,” Mickey manages to stutter. He doesn’t see Ian anywhere, and he can’t stop the painful thought that hits him at that: _it’s just like the last time_.

Terry snarls, spitting his every word. “Maybe this time, I should get some whore and have him watch while she fucks the faggot out of you.”

Then a screeching sound comes and with it the sharp, swift movement of the police car that mows Terry down.

Afterward, so many things happen at once. Ian jumps out of the car, asking him questions that make no sense. A policewoman on a bike comes, too, seemingly out of nowhere, inspecting the scene in front of her.

As Mickey lies on his side on the road, his body finally free from the shakes, all he can see is the unmoving bloodied form of his dad.

\---

They’re both sitting on the side of the road with hands cuffed behind their backs.

“You okay?” It’s Ian’s turn to ask that.

“No, I’m not fucking okay.”

For one, Mickey’s right eye is bleeding. For two, he has to watch as the policewoman covers his dad’s corpse with a white sheet. The blood seeps into it almost immediately.

“I think I got my dad’s brains all over my shoes.” He’s laughing as he says it, in spite of himself. After a moment of wonder, he continues: “Not exactly how I imagined we’d spend the day. I seem to remember some promises being made yesterday.”

And he’s back to flirting, over his dad’s brains. Ian smiles, not saying anything.

“Ever fucked in a jail cell? Could be hot,” Mickey adds.

Nothing, still.

“Okay, that would normally get a reaction from you by now. What’s up?”

To Mickey’s frustration, Ian shrugs again. “Just past shit. Doesn’t matter, right?” he says.

“Seriously, Ian, you’ve been acting weird all day, and I’m starting to take it personally.” Mickey’s truly worried now. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

Ian finally blows.

“Too much! Too much is wrong with me, okay?” he’s shouting, his hands struggling against the cuffs. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, no. You specifically don’t want to know anything about that. Because nothing matters. Your words, Mickey. Well, guess what? It matters to me.”

“Okay, look-”

“I fucked someone.”

The sudden declaration stuns them both to silence.

Ian releases a deep breath. He sniffs, shuffling to sit on his knees, and locks eyes with Mickey.

“I fucked Branden’s dad. The night before today. It’s a thing I do. Or used to do. I’d get picked up by guys in the club I worked at all the time. I’d fuck them, and they’d buy me stuff in return, invite me to expensive hotels, order me room service. Help me forget who I am for the night. The drugs helped, too. But I haven’t done that lately, not since I was diagnosed. Not until that night. And I hate it because it’s not who I am anymore. But I have to be reminded of that slip every single fucking day I’m here. Sorry if that ruined your plans for today or whatever.”

“Fuck. I didn’t know.”

“No, of course, you wouldn’t.”

They watch each other hesitantly. Mickey wants to deflect the tension, make a silly joke or something, but Ian pushes on:

“When I got my first serious boyfriend, we went to get tested together, and when the doctor asked how many sexual partners I’d had, I couldn’t give her a number. Because back then, I worked the front of the club just as much as the back.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Mickey replies softly.

“See, but that’s the thing. I want you to know these things. I want you to know me. All of me. And I know I’m not being fair. I should’ve told you before last night. To give you a chance to back out.”

“Ian,” he starts quietly. “I lied.”

“What? When?”

“When I said we didn’t hook up before. We did. _Jesus_ , like a thousand times.”

“What?” Ian repeats.

“Last night wasn’t the first time we slept together, okay? We’ve been fucking like… since the very beginning. It’s actually how I got into this mess. My dad caught us, and you ran away… Look, I dunno why I didn’t tell you before. Shit just got harder every day. And we had fun together. I didn’t wanna ruin it and lose what we had.”

Ian’s just staring at him, all sincerity gone. But that doesn’t stop Mickey. He has to get it all out. It’s now or never.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was a terrified dirty kid who would rather throw himself in juvie than deal with the fact that he was gay and fuckin’ pining after his sister’s boyfriend. And as much of a fucked-up situation this is, it’s actually been the greatest time of my life.”

He kind of expects a rom com moment to follow. That Ian would smile that goofy smile he has when he’s unapologetically blissed-out, confess his love back, and they would make out while there’s still Terry’s brains all over Mickey’s shoes. Because that’s the only kind of rom com appropriate for his life.

But Ian looks angry. He stumbles when he tries to get to his feet. With his back to Mickey, he starts pacing.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Mickey pushes.

“Yes, I heard you.”

“And?”

Ian turns back with that. “And I can’t believe what a coward you actually are.”

“Excuse me?” Mickey stands up, too.

“I can see that you’re in love, and I’m actually jealous. Because it’s not with me, but with another one of your self-imposed prisons!”

“Fuck you! Like I willingly went into that cave and got myself thrown into a time loop.”

They’re standing so close now that they’re spitting at each other’s faces, both pissed off and hurt in their own ways.

“I don’t know, but it ended up being pretty fucking convenient, right? Can’t you see? This whole thing you seem to be enjoying so much? It’s not fucking real.”

“’Course it’s fucking real! You and me, we are real. What we feel is real. What part of this situation doesn’t feel real?”

“It’s not reality!” Ian shouts. “Just a cheap version of it. And I’m not me, and you’re not you. We don’t know each other. Not really. You don’t know me. You didn’t have to deal with me when my bipolar starts acting up or when my family gets too involved. You’ve only seen this version of me. How can you know that you actually love me and that you’re not just feeling like this because it’s easy right now? You’ve said it yourself that you ran every time things got hard.”

Mickey notices that the policewoman is giving them weird looks. Strangely, her presence grounds him.

“This is different,” he says, soft again.

“Is it really? Would you have let me kiss you in front of that whole bar if you knew that the people there would remember? Would you stand up to your dad if things just didn’t reset every day?”

Mickey doesn’t reply.

Ian sneers at him, mocking his nonreaction. Then, he sniffs. “I need to get the hell out of this day.”

Something catches Ian’s eyes on the road behind Mickey. Before he can see what it is, Ian breaks into a run.

“Wait–”

But it’s too late. Ian’s already standing firmly in the path of a passing car. Mickey only manages to squeeze his eyes shut before the crash.

\---

He spends the rest of the day sitting alone in his cell, deep in thoughts.

There are dried stains of Ian’s blood on his face, and his shoes are still covered in Terry’s brains. It all feels nauseatingly fitting.

\---

The next day, he’s still not absolutely sure what he wants to tell Ian. If he wants to lie just for them to make up, or if he actually wants to tell him the truth, which is that he’s not sure if he can do what Ian’s asking of him. Not yet.

Turns out, he worries for nothing because Ian never shows up. Mickey waits for him at the house and then later at the bar, but he never comes.

\---

The day after that, Mickey tries the hotel. But when he asks Mandy if she’s seen Ian, she says she went to his room to wake him up earlier, and his bed was all made up, so he probably didn’t sleep there.

Mickey already knows that, but hearing it confirmed from his sister’s mouth leaves a dull pain in his chest. And it’s not like Ian sleeps with the guy over and over again, but it sure feels like it.

He thinks he can understand how hard it must be for Ian.

Mickey drives back to the house, then to the bar again. Tries standing in the middle of the fucking desert and shout out Ian’s name like a nut case. With no luck. Ian doesn’t seem to want to be found. And Mickey believes he owes him that. 

Still, he starts counting the days that Ian’s missing.

\---

On day 5, he joins the wedding again.

He drinks a whole bunch and doesn’t offer to help. Then, when the ceremony starts, he tries not to recite the sappy vows out loud.

The ground shakes, as it always does after Mandy’s and Branden’s first kiss, and Mickey does his best not to mock everyone’s panicky screams.

After, he doesn’t give his speech. There’s no point anymore. He just downs his shots, wills his body to stay in the seat and not go and kick that Edgar dude in his geriatric balls.

Mickey thinks he must be at least sixty. In his mouth, he tastes bile.

Sometime later, he catches Mandy’s sad expression as she looks at Ian’s empty seat at Mickey’s table. The siblings share a look then, more unguarded and honest than they may have ever shared. But it’s gone again after a minute when Branden leans over to whisper something in Mandy’s ear, and she smiles back at him.

\---

On day 23, he lets Leo the bartender flirt with him.

They end up in a hotel room that Mickey swipes a card to from someone’s jacket. He’s got Leo on all fours, with his front pinned to the bed. As he fucks into him, his thrusts are bordering on brutal.

Leo must enjoy it because his moans are getting louder, too loud for Mickey’s liking, and he starts to lose his concentration.

To silence the guy, Mickey pushes his head into the pillows. As he does, his fingers automatically slide into his hair. Closing his eyes, Mickey imagines that they’re slightly longer and red and have a familiar texture.

With a groan, he climaxes, but it’s like his body forgets to tell his brain.

He feels nothing.

\---

On day 71, he thinks about Chicago and his life on the South Side. The memories have already been nagging at him for the past few weeks at this point, even though he promised himself he’d close and securely bolt the door on them when his last parole ended.

If he’s honest, it all went to hell with Ian anyway. So, on day 71, he indulges the past.

He’s at the bar, sitting at the booth that used to be his then theirs and now is solely his again. He thinks about the freckled ginger boy with straight-cut bangs that used to come around the Milkovich house with Mandy and make Mickey feel things he forbade himself from ever feeling.

He thinks about how he used to watch him from afar, only once daring to come closer, nudging next to him on the small family couch to seemingly intrude on his and Mandy’s binge-watch of Baywatch. It was there Mickey realized that their eyes, in a similar fashion, moved hungrily, yet so very discreetly over the muscly torsos of the male protagonists. It only made things worse. Because now, there was a chance.

He thinks about how the cowardly side of him won, and he started a petty fight with a neighborhood cop just to get as far away from the boy as he could. He did the same thing when he came back and saw that everything stayed the same, only now the ginger was a hopeful army recruit with the body of an athlete. He broke his parole in less than a week.

But Ian kept coming back into his life, like the stubborn idiot that he was, single-handedly out-thinking the universe and Mickey’s hiding tactics. Getting to talk to him was the only clear thought Mickey had when he saw him that first day of Mandy’s wedding, closely followed by getting him into his bed.

It felt like a culmination of years-long stories, in more ways than one. Because Terry caught them fucking and Ian fled and Mickey ended up alone – alone to fend for himself, alone to run into a cave that wasn’t there before and get himself caught in the time loop. But he still kept coming back to Ian when he could.

Much later, Ian stayed, at least for a bit, and Mickey finally let himself feel things. Even found it easy again.

The hurt was still there, and so was the darkness, but Ian made them bearable just by being there. Mickey got used to it, got used to feeling the bad along with the good. And as he did, the bad became less tangible every day. It wasn’t a gaping hole of nothingness that threatened to swallow each happy moment anymore. It was just… _there_.

A part of him, but not all he was. More like, he was himself regardless of it.

That time, it was so much different, so much better, because they finally talked and laughed together, and ignoring the physical attraction became simple. It was safe. It was enough.

He decided not to push and left the next step to Ian. But how was it fair that when Ian took it, the situation was already too unbearable for him?

Now, all that kept Mickey sane was thinking about seeing him again. Touching him, kissing him, and letting him do things that would make his dad’s spleen burst open upon just hearing.

When he leaves the toilet after yet another sad wank, he downs his drink and stumbles out of the bar, planting face-first onto the road because of his unsteady feet. A bearded chin noses at him, and he opens his eyes to stare back into the square pupils of a goat.

He gently pats Flo, grinning drunkenly, and falls asleep.

\---

On day 134, he goes to the diner where he and Ian ran into Terry that one time. Mickey has a burning urgency to get some stuff off his chest and have his teeth properly punched in. Going to see his dad has a high probability of accomplishing both.

Terry is sitting on a high stool by the counter, just like he did back then. He twists when the ring above the entrance door announces Mickey coming in.

“Well, if it ain’t the little cocksucker,” Terry retorts, taking a sip from a bottle of beer. “That ginger queer ain’t here today to save your ass?”

“No,” Mickey admits, coming to stand next to his dad but not taking a seat. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh,” Terry says, amused, as in _we’ll see how that goes_. He digs back into his half-eaten slice of cherry pie, clearly not deeming Mickey worthy of his full attention.

Mickey takes a deep breath and braces himself.

“I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure if it’s the words themselves or the raw honesty of them, but the phrase surprises Terry, who looks back at him with mouth agape. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, pops,” Mickey continues. “Because you were right. I’m fucking gay. And I’m sorry I couldn’t tell this to your pathetic ass years ago. Because I’ve known for years that I’m both a Milkovich and also a big flaming homo.”

He can practically see the blood boil inside Terry’s body, but his courage doesn’t give up so easily. Not today.

All eyes in the diner are on him because he’s not being particularly quiet. He still feels like he needs to amp up the theatrics a little, which is why he leans over to speak right into Terry’s red face.

“And d’you know when I’ve been the most certain of it? When I’ve been sucking Ian’s cock. I fucking love that shit. The only thing I love more is when he shoves it in my ass, and I take it, good and hard.”

And that does it.

Terry springs at him, fists ready. But Mickey’s ready, too, and they stumble around the diner for a bit, earning shocked remarks from other customers. It’s a choreographed mess, a violent dance Mickey’s been practicing for his whole life.

They beat each other bloody until he blacks out.

\---

On day 189 **,** it already feels like an eternity, even though it’s only been one hundred and eighty-nine days. And frankly speaking, it’s fucking pathetic because it’s less than Mickey had already spent in the time loop before Ian joined him. It’s even less than he’d done several times over before that in juvie and prison.

It’s also incomparably less than he’d already had to live through after he realized that that’s what it was, just more time that comes and goes, and nothing ever changes when you’re fucked for life.

So, only now feeling like the days drag and he can’t possibly take any more of them, is pathetic and infuriating and so, _so_ telling. And it’s all totally Ian’s fault. Because Mickey was once so good at not feeling all this shit.

But on day 189, which feels like an eternity, he wakes up to a resolute tap on the car door window.

It’s Ian.

His hair is slicked back like it always is, and he’s still wearing the same shirt and jean shorts. He looks just like he looked one hundred and eighty-nine days ago, but he’s not angry or dejected. He looks calm.

From the corner of his eye, Mickey notices a strange car haphazardly parked on the other side of the desert road. A strange car Ian must have gotten god-knows-where and driven all the way here.

As Mickey rolls down the window, he tries to decide what he wants to tell Ian.

He can think of different things. Angry things like _where the fuck have you been_. Ostensibly nonchalant things like _fancy seeing you here_. Or stupidly soft things like _I missed you_.

He says none of it when he sees Ian prop himself on the car door to bend over to Mickey’s level. His forearm covers his mouth as he leans on it.

His eyes are focused but unreadable, and for a while, they just hold Mickey’s like they’re trying to formulate everything Ian can’t express with words.

A beat passes before he pulls away to speak, and when he does, it’s with an almost imperceptible smack noise coming from his lips leaving the skin of his forearm.

“I think I figured out how to get out of this,” he announces. It sounds both like a victory and a commiseration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me about those two idiots on tumblr: [abundanceofnots](https://abundanceofnots.tumblr.com/)


	5. It’s this day forever!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The goat goes boom.

_“I need to get the hell out of this day.”_

Ian still feels the impact of the car as he stirs awake. It’s like phantom pain, a sensation that only seconds ago felt so vivid, so real, but somehow isn’t there anymore. If only the impression Mickey’s words left on him was similarly short-lived, he thinks.

Without a second to spare, he jumps off the bed, spinning around the room in search of something – _a way out, a way out, a way out_ , he hears with every heartbeat – as he puts his clothes back on. He pointedly ignores the running shower and the memory of Mickey sitting on the side of the road, his shoes bloodied and his face hopeful.

Finally, his eyes land on a car key that lies on Edgar’s night table, barely hidden behind a leather wallet.

\---

“Hey, Ian! How’s Palm Springs?” Lip asks him, all cheerful, when he picks up the phone after five frustrating rings. Somewhere in the background, Ian can hear Freddie crying and Debbie arguing about something with Carl. He almost forgets himself at how normal the whole thing sounds.

“You busy?” he yells back, deliberately avoiding his brother’s question because he seriously has no time for _that_. He makes a sharp left turn with the car, taking his eyes off the road for a second to check if his phone didn’t slide off the front passenger seat.

He hears Lip snicker through the speaker and move away from the noise before speaking again:

“Just a regular day at the Gallagher household. What’s up?”

“This is gonna sound nuts, but…” Ian’s already dreading the reaction it’s going get from his brother, but he knows no one better to ask. “What do you know about quantum physics?”

\---

After assuring Lip that he’s _okay, just curious_ , Ian actually manages to get some great pointers on where to start on the subject. That’s how he finds himself here, in the Palm Springs Public Library, googling the relevant edX course page.

As he scrolls through the topics of statistical methods for data analysis and gravitational wave theory, he promises himself he will dedicate every minute of his days to study as much as he can until he finds a way out of the time loop.

\---

It takes a lot of days. One hundred and forty-three of them, to be exact. And Ian has no one else to blame for that but himself, because he so unwisely lost more than a few of those days by falling asleep.

Frankly speaking, it’s really no wonder because some of the things he learns about make absolutely no sense on the second or even tenth read. His head constantly hurts as he powers it mainly with caffeine, kind bars, and the occasional smoke break. Weirdly, though, Ian doesn’t mind the drill because it reminds him of the boy who used to wake up every morning and do two hundred push-ups before going to school. It reminds him that maybe there’s still some part of that determined boy in him.

And so, through countless yawns and restarted worn-out computers, the abstract ideas start to stick onto Ian’s brain and form logical patterns, which he discusses every morning with Lip on his short drive to the library. From there, almost miraculously, a plan is formed.

On day 144, Ian starts with terrain measurements and consecutive trial tests.

\---

“Hey, man! How’s the wedding? Boned someone already?”

It’s day 178, and Ian feels positive that he can finally move onto the next stage. That’s why he calls his intrusive little brother that morning and asks him: “Hey, Carl. This will probably sound weird, but do you know where I could get a bomb in a place like Palm Springs?”

“Why would that be weird?” Carl says, honestly puzzled, before he goes on a terrifyingly simple step-by-step explanation of how Ian can procure an explosive in the Sonoran Desert area.

\---

“We are trapped in a box of energy,” Ian tells Mickey, who’s surveying over his shoulder as he draws a square with his finger onto the dirty surface of the car window. Inside it, he makes a cylinder with a circle around its middle and two arrows – one beside the cylinder, pointing up, one going through it, pointing to the right.

“We get out of it by escaping the box,” he continues, tapping at the space in the center of the cylinder, “in the 3.2 seconds it takes to travel through the loop itself.”

“And by escaping the box, you mean?” Mickey enquires.

Ian hurtles the reply back at him in hopes that it’ll come out more sensible that way. “Blowing ourselves up in the cave, during that window. And if we detonate the C-4 at the exact right moment, it will propel us out.”

Mickey doesn’t look convinced. He has his arms crossed and sounds tired, like he doesn’t really want them to be having this kind of talk right now.

“To where?”

“I don’t know,” Ian admits. “We could wake up the next day. We could wake up twenty years from now. Or, you know, we could end up dead. Crushed under a pile of rocks.”

Mickey laughs, an ugly sound meaning _aha, there it is_ , as if that’s the exact outcome he was expecting all along.

He walks up and down along the parked car, apparently considering Ian’s crazy idea all the same. Ian watches him hesitantly from where he perches himself on the hood of the vehicle.

“Where’d you learn all this?” Mickey asks after a while, nodding to the drawing on the window.

“Online.”

Mickey stops in his tracks, his shoulders sagging.

“Great.”

“Okay! So, it’s a theory.” Ian gets defensive. “But we have to try.”

Mickey grimaces at him. “Do we, really?”

“Yes! Because I don’t want to wake up in here five years from now, next to a guy I don’t even remember fucking, while everything stays the same all the time. I want to live again. Do stuff that matters. Fuckin’ talk to my family without them forgetting about it the next day. Have a normal relationship. Age, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you want that, too?”

“Alright, yes, dammit!” Mickey blows for just a millisecond before taking a steadying breath. “I want that, too,” he concedes, still somewhat cagily.

Ian offers him a supportive smile, first letting out a big exhale of his own.

“Anyway. I tested it,” he states, losing Mickey a little in the thread of his thoughts.

“You tested it.”

“Yeah. On Flo.”

Mickey’s back to incredulousness. “You tested it on the goat?”

“Yup,” Ian grins, relaxing a little in his position. “Took her with me into the time loop one day, stuck a belt with explosives onto her the next. I pushed her inside, click, boom.”

Mickey groans. “Ian, I swear to God–”

“She’s gone.”

“What?”

The hand Mickey was rubbing his eyes with hangs limply in front of him as he shoots his head up.

“Flo’s gone. I blew her up, and I don’t know where she went, but she’s not here. It worked.” Ian shrugs. “So, what do you say?”

Out of a sudden, Mickey looks like he doesn’t actually have anything on his mind, so Ian resumes, softer this time: “Look, I’ll be okay. I know it now. And we don’t even have to be together, we don’t have to be friends, or see each other, like ever. But I just want there to be a reality in which Mickey Milkovich isn’t in prison. And I don’t even want that for myself. I want it for you.”

Mickey snorts, seemingly amused, but Ian can tell he’s touched.

“Jesus, did ya also take psychology lessons?” Mickey mocks him, which Ian also gets.

“Shut the fuck up.”

For a brief moment, they just hold each other’s eyes, smiling. Then, Mickey moves to stand in front of Ian.

“We OK?” he asks, hesitant.

“Think so.”

Ian takes his hand, pulling him even closer. His fingers start caressing over the tattooed F, U, C and K letters, repeating their contours.

“But I’m still fucking angry with you,” Ian tells him with no trace of anger in his voice.

“Whatever the hell for?”

“For practically admitting that you consciously robbed us of our chance to be together back when we were kids.”

Mickey makes no move to tear himself away from Ian. “Oh, come the fuck on! You can’t possibly know that.”

“No, and you can’t know that we wouldn’t work out outside of this.” Ian sighs, turning Mickey’s hand, so it lays palm-up on his thigh. With two fingers, he draws delicate lines on his skin there. “Look, all I’m saying is, I get it. I get why you did what you did back then, and I get why you’re scared now.”

“Psychology 101, again?”

“Yes. Shut up, and let me say it.”

They both laugh.

“Truth is, I’m scared, too.”

Mickey huffs in disbelief. “Jesus, of what?”

“Everything! Of letting the disease turn me into someone I barely recognize. Of ending up a deadbeat like my mom.” Ian looks at Mickey. “Of you getting sick of me.”

Mickey nods, ever so slightly, and nudges between Ian’s legs, making him spread them further apart. Then, he gently takes Ian’s face into his palms.

“I’m already sick of you,” he says, earning a chuckle from Ian. But Mickey only holds his gaze stronger, beaming. “It’s the best.”

Ian leans forward then, capturing his lips. They’re a bit dry and chapped but taste exactly the same as they did so many agonizing days before.

Truth is, Ian thought of them a lot during those times. That is, when he allowed himself to think about Mickey. He was too much of a distraction to let that happen too often.

“You should’ve told me we slept together before,” Ian accuses, careful not to break the spell completely.

“I know.” Mickey’s breath ghosts over his lips. “But shit’s different when you have to see the person every day after a one-night stand, right?”

Ian _hmms_ , his grin stretching wide. “I don’t think it still qualifies as a one-night stand if you keep coming back. Even if the other person doesn’t know about it.”

“You make me sound like I was fucking obsessed with you.”

“Weren’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

“Definitely wasn’t a no.” Ian giggles. “Jesus, Mick. We’re such idiots.”

Mickey makes a sound of agreement as he licks back into Ian’s mouth.

It’s Ian who has to put a stop to their kissing because they really can’t make up for lost time here, even if they wanted to. They need to get the fuck out of the time loop first.

“Come on. Let’s enjoy this wedding one last time.” Ian presses Mickey to move backward, so he can get off the hood. When he does, he takes the car key from the front pocket of his shorts, fiddling with it as he declares: “I won’t push, not this time. But I’ll go into the cave tonight whether you decide to come with me or not.”

He crosses the road to unlock Edgar’s car, turning to Mickey to shout one last thing.

“And wear the suit! You look really fuckable in it!”

Mickey gives him the finger.

\---

Ian spends the rest of the morning getting everything ready, which is why he arrives back at the hotel when all the chairs are already set up for the wedding ceremony, and all name tags are arranged on tables in the outdoor bar and dining area for the reception later. It leaves Ian with nothing else to do then get dressed.

On the way to his room, he passes the kitchen, where he stumbles onto the Milkovich siblings drinking beer and sharing a blunt, all three in their full wedding outfits – Iggy and Mickey in their dark suits and bowties, Mandy in her short white dress with a strapless top, a classic veil stuck to her high bun.

Ian can see the questions cross Mickey’s mind as he watches him, smoke coming out of his nostrils. Ian flashes him a curt smile and then excuses himself before Mandy starts asking _where the fuck_ he was all day.

They don’t talk much throughout the afternoon if you don’t count the silent dialogues that they keep having through shared looks. Doesn’t matter if Ian’s walking Mandy down the aisle or if they’re eating dinner, sitting opposite each other at the same table. Somehow, their eyes always seem to find one another.

It’s some sappy bullshit, absolute nonsense reserved for the kind of stories that Ian always pretended to despise, and he really struggles to keep his shit-eating grin at bay.

Practically the only time Ian’s sight leaves Mickey’s is when he gets up to make his best man speech after diner.

“Thank you so much for letting me share this day with you, Mandy,” Ian starts, his hand clammy around the microphone. “I know I’m not the most reliable friend, as we could see just this morning, but I hope that I’m a loyal friend because you deserve nothing less. You’ve stood by me in a place that’s not known for being kind. You’re the one who knew the most about the real me, and you’ve stayed when I needed to remember who that is. You’re one of the strongest people I know, overcoming what you’ve overcome. And as much as I admire you for it, I hope you will never have to be this strong again.”

“And Branden,” he turns to Mandy’s new husband, who looks back at him tentatively. “I know I don’t look like much compared to Mandy’s brothers –” A murmur of agreement from the crowd. “– but I really have no qualms about going full South Side on your ass if you ever decide to hurt Mandy in any way.”

Branden gulps, and Ian wills his hardened stare to linger for a second longer before breaking into a bright smile.

“Congrats to the happy couple!” he announces, raising his glass.

\---

He’s sitting at the bar a couple of minutes later when someone with strong cologne and alcohol breath pins themselves to his back. It makes Ian freeze.

“That was quite a speech you made there,” a man whispers in Ian’s ear, following the words with a hand snaking around his waist to kneed his thigh. “How about we continue tonight where we left off yesterday?”

“’Kay, that’s enough, grandpa,” Mickey retorts, appearing out of nowhere by Ian’s side. It makes Branden’s father jump on the spot and quickly take off his hands.

“And who are you, his boyfriend?” Edgar asks derisively.

Mickey looks to Ian, as if making sure, and then back to him.

“Yea, I am. Got a problem with that?” He makes a show of cracking his knuckles.

Edgar clearly decides Ian’s not worth the trouble, so he raises his hands in a gesture of understanding.

“Didn’t think so,” Mickey comments. “Now, scram. Bye. Jesus.”

Ian fails at hiding his grin. He makes sure Edgar’s gone before taking one of Mickey’s hands and putting it over his erection.

Mickey arches a brow at him, visibly pleased. “Me threatening to kick some old-man balls got you this hot and heavy?”

“Wasn’t exactly that part that did it, but sure,” Ian replies hoarsely, moving Mickey’s hand so it’s lightly stroking his cock over the pants. “Hey, there’s still some time left. Wanna christen my hotel room? Or have we done that part already, too?”

Mickey just sticks his tongue in the corner of his mouth, teasing Ian, and waggles his eyebrows.

\---

Later, when their shirts are tucked back in their pants, and their hair is smoothed over, they make their way back to the party.

Stealing just a few more moments to themselves, they amble, bumping into each other with their hips and shoulders as they sway from side to side, so openly and unashamedly drunk on the sensation of being together and as in love as they are. They pause again by the door that leads to the hotel dining area.

Ian tugs Mickey closer to share loud sucking pecks interlaced with giggles, his long freckled arms closing around Mickey’s shoulders so tightly, it leaves him no choice but to stand on his tip-toes a little, splaying his palms over Ian’s back.

As the kisses get more heated and longer, and their tongues come out to play, Ian has the fleeting, stupid idea of leaving the whole thing for tomorrow. A cold shiver passes through him as he imagines waking up in Edgar’s hotel room one more time, and it’s all the push he needs to focus again.

With a sigh, he loosens his grip on Mickey, letting his arms slowly fall back to his sides as he nudges their foreheads together. He nuzzles at Mickey’s nose, his cheek, and then his neck, where he takes the time to inhale his scent, now full of sweat and musk and just a hint of aftershave. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls away.

As he takes in the sight of Mickey, he lets out a snort because Mickey’s chest is heaving as if he’s just come running from around the block. His cheeks are flushed, and his hair is _wild_ in the most obviously debauched way, a sign that Ian must have been unconsciously running his fingers through it.

Ian licks his lips. He wants Mickey to look like this all the time.

They just grin at each other for a second, in complete silence, the only sound being their heavy breaths. Mickey’s the one to break the spell this time.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he promises, nudging first at Ian’s chest and then swatting at his butt as he passes him on his way out, which leaves Ian chuckling.

\---

A cigarette Ian bribed off one of Branden’s cousins hangs from his mouth when he sits back to his table. He decides to allow himself this one post-coital smoke as a way of taking advantage of the nonexistent time loop causality one last blissful time.

Several tables over, Mickey is eagerly discussing something with Iggy. He told Ian earlier that there was one more thing he needed to set up before they could head to the cave, but that’s as far as Ian was concerned with what was going on there.

As he watches Mickey furrow his brows and shake his head resolutely, he thinks it’s kind of cute to see Mickey trying to act all assertive and angry, when only mere minutes ago he was riding Ian’s dick with the most vulnerable and relaxed expression on his face, softly moaning throughout.

Ian has to bite his lips to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“So,” Mandy starts as she sits on the free chair next to Ian, “what’s going on between you and Mickey?” She swipes his cigarette, taking a puff from it before continuing. “You’ve been eye-fucking each other the whole day.”

“Oh, we’ve done much more than that,” Ian says coolly as he takes back the cigarette. His eyes fall back on Mickey, who is gesturing heatedly at his unimpressed older brother.

Mandy uses the distraction to sharply punch Ian’s shoulder. He lets out a surprised yelp.

“You cocky fucker! Why didn’t you tell me anything?” she asks in this semi-whispered, semi-shouted way. Ian can tell she’s excited because her pitch goes up an octave.

He makes a noncommittal noise around the cigarette. Then, pinching it in between his thumb and index finger, he replies, only half-jokingly: “There was no time.”

“Is it serious?”

It reminds him of all the times he and Mandy sat on the uncomfortable couch in the Milkovich house that had too many sheets strung over it to cover all the stains and tears, when they were both sixteen and talked about their high school crushes. He tries to imagine telling that Mandy about him and Mickey going to the cave to blow themselves up in a crazy wish to grow old together.

“Yeah, it is.”

Mandy shakes her head, clearly marveling at his straightforwardness. “What the fuck? How long has this been going on?”

“I really couldn’t tell you,” Ian admits.

He turns to Mickey again, who is now watching him back over the heads of countless guests. Iggy’s gone, and he seems to be interested in what Ian’s talking about with his sister.

“I promise to spare no detail when we talk later,” Ian tells Mandy, his eyes not leaving Mickey’s. “Hopefully tomorrow or some other day that’s not today.”

Mandy scoffs. “You’re making no sense.”

She stands up to leave but then lingers for a moment to inspect Ian one more time. Apparently, he notices her scrutinizing look too late because she hits his shoulder again.

“Christ, he’s got you dickwhipped _good_ ,” she prolongs the last word, partly amused, partly in disbelief. “And stop grinning so much! It’s _my_ wedding day!”

Ian chuckles, feeling his ears turn red.

“Sorry.”

Mandy leans down to kiss his cheek and whispers: “I’m happy for you.”

After she moves to talk to someone at the next table, Ian looks up to see Mickey motioning at his imaginary watch.

\---

As they make their way through the desert toward the gigantic spikes that stand guard at the cave’s entrance, Ian carrying the bag with explosives, they both turn when they hear fireworks go off somewhere in the desert. It looks like it’s coming from somewhere close to the wedding venue.

Ian studies the changing bursts of colors reflect on Mickey’s face.

“Your doing?” he has to raise his voice a little over the noise.

Mickey scratches at his neck. “Mostly Iggy.”

“Right.”

Ian grabs the back of Mickey’s head to kiss him on the temple. And for a while, in that imperfect side-hug, they just watch the night sky come alive with spurts of light and violent whistles of burned energy.

\---

At the cave’s entrance, Ian opens his bag and takes out the belt with explosives. Draping it from one shoulder to the opposite hip like a sash, he slowly exhales. Although pretty small, the triggering device feels heavy in his right hand.

He looks at Mickey standing by his side.

“You ready?” he asks.

“No,” Mickey admits, swallowing hard. “We might fuckin’ die.”

“We’ve done that already. And we always survived,” Ian points out, offering Mickey his hand. “Together?”

Mickey nods, interlocking their hands, and squeezing Ian’s anxiously. Together, they start walking inside the tunnel, eyes drawn to the pulsating red light growing stronger and wider with each step.

After about fifty paces, where the brightness reaches a sort of barrier before it has a chance to become too overwhelming, Ian stops.

“One more thing I forgot,” he explains quickly, turning to clutch both of Mickey’s hands. “It’s really important.”

Mickey looks back at him impatiently.

“I love you, too,” Ian tells him.

Despite the nerves, a smile blooms on Mickey’s face as he huffs out a laugh. Ian beams back at him.

“Dramatic asshole,” Mickey mutters, shaking his head.

Ian swoops him in his arms then, and they kiss and kiss as the light fills out space around them, engulfing them both.

An invisible power pulls them into the cave’s core. And when it just about succeeds, Ian presses the button on the device he holds against Mickey’s back, which sets off the bomb.

\---

His hand is lazily stroking up and down Mickey’s calf as they lie opposite each other on two giant inflatable pizza slices in the pool at the blue house’s backyard. The sun is high in the sky, and they have all the time in the world.

Ian, whose whole body seems to be covered in a thick layer of SPF 50 sunscreen, makes a content sigh before asking: “Aren’t you worried that the people who own this place are gonna come back now?”

Mickey laughs into his beer can.

“Right, I never told you,” he says, checking his neck and chest for spillages. “It’s my house,” he adds, like it’s nothing.

Ian pushes up on his elbows to give Mickey a skeptical look through his dark shades.

“Bullshit.”

“Nah, douchebag. It’s my house. Kinda,” Mickey sort of clarifies. “Been renting it from Branden since my parole ended. He used to live here with Mandy before they moved closer to LA.”

Ian isn’t convinced. “With what money?”

“Got a family discount.”

He considers it, heaving himself back down on the lilo with a squeaky thud. As he crosses his arms over his chest, his mind starts racing with questions he’s not able to keep inside for long.

“Shit. What are we gonna do? Are we gonna stay here? Go back to Chicago? What about our jobs?” he mumbles almost incoherently.

Mickey lightly pats his thigh.

“Calm down. We said one more day,” he reminds Ian. “No thinking about real-life shit.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

It does shut Ian up, but he knows it’s gonna bother him for the rest of the day if they don’t settle it right then and there. Somehow, Mickey knows, too.

“In any case, it never felt like a home in the first place.”

“No?” Ian peeps, somewhat hopeful.

“No, man. I never even bothered to unpack properly. There’s fucking boxes everywhere.” He scratches at his eyebrows. “In the end, it just turned into another one of my hiding spots.”

Ian appreciates him admitting to it, and for a beat, he just watches him with a small smile, not saying anything. Eventually, though, he decides to lean back on the giddy feeling he got when Mickey basically informed him that he was willing to go back to Chicago with him.

“At least no one can say you were compensating with the size of the pool.”

Mickey snorts. “You’re a fucking dick.”

Sighing contently again, Ian closes his eyes, going back to carding his fingers through the dark hairs on Mickey’s leg.

“Anything else you wanna come clean about while we’re at it?” he asks, trying to see how far Mickey’s willing to go with his honesty.

Unexpectedly, he gets a reply almost instantly.

“I swipe your beer for a nonalcoholic one.”

“Already knew that one, bitch.” Ian jabs at Mickey’s leg, scratching a little at a spot which he later caresses. “Thank you, by the way.”

He truly can’t believe his luck. They’re together, and they’re both alive, and there are so many days in front of them when they can be just that. With no Terry coming in between them to ruin it all and no danger of them waking up alone if they went to bed together, everything seems just right. Perfect, even.

It makes Ian a bit dizzy how happy he feels.

“Hey,” he says after a lull in their conversation, already grinning. “Did we ever try it with you topping, in any of the days before I joined you in the time loop?”

Mickey’s silence and the way his face muscles don’t move even slightly tell Ian all he wants to know.

“Oh my God, we totally did!” he exclaims, secretly proud of himself.

Mickey bursts out laughing, too. “Why d’you wanna know? That a particular interest of yours?”

“Did I like it? Wait, don’t tell me.”

Ian lifts himself up and stumbles onto Mickey’s lilo, covering his shaking body with his own. The inflatable pizza slice starts to sink under their combined weight.

“I think I’d like to find out on my own,” he concludes by framing Mickey’s head with his arms, licking his lips seductively.

“You’re such a dork,” Mickey tells him, and his openly fond look makes Ian’s heart beat faster.

“Tough luck. You’re already stuck with me.”

Before Mickey pulls Ian closer to suck on his upper lip, he utters a husky but entirely gratified _mmm, good_.

Even as their clothes soak up water and they slowly sink below the surface, they don’t stop kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the fic! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading about Ian and Mickey's shenanigans in the time loop. Please consider watching the movie Palm Springs, if you haven't already. I've seen it like ten times - for science, obvs - and still like it enormously.
> 
> Someone asked me once if I ever considered writing a one-off about the day Mickey originally met Ian at the wedding and fell into the time loop. The short answer is I'm actually considering it, because I'd like to know more about what happened there. They haven't let me see much of it, yet :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come find me at my tumblr if you ever want to talk about Shameless and stuff: [abundanceofnots](https://abundanceofnots.tumblr.com/)


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